


New Tricks

by ambreignstrain



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Attempted Dub-Con, Blackmail, I don't know why either, It just happened, M/M, Mentions of past drug use, Pretty Woman AU, Prositution, basically Roman is a rich businessman and Dean is a prostitute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 113,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambreignstrain/pseuds/ambreignstrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty Woman AU.  Busy, lonely businessman Roman Reigns finds himself lost in a bad neighborhood one night.  He happens to run across a prostitute named Dean who gives him more than just directions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Getting Started

**Author's Note:**

> So a while back a user named SuperFangirl88 posted a comment to "Summer Games" about wanting a Pretty Woman AU. I resisted the temptation to fall down that rabbit hole for a while, but then the idea caught me and wouldn't let go. I've got this whole thing plotted out and it's more than halfway written at this point. It's going fairly quickly. I'll be posting updates every few days.
> 
> Also: the excellent ahhsuka on Tumblr made [ this awesome cover](http://ahhsuka.tumblr.com/post/150748181462/happy-birthday-cj-the-madder-jester) for the story. Check it out! It's fantastic!

**New Tricks** **  
** _I. Prologue_

Tuesday night.  Late.

Roman Reigns slouched exhausted behind the wheel of his beloved Mercedes, eyes gritty and dry, tie tugged loose around his neck, and his head vaguely aching.

Probably hadn’t had enough water to drink today, he figured.

In between flying out here, the tour of the company his father wanted to purchase, several long and mind-numbing conference calls, and a boring dinner meeting with his lawyer Seth and the company’s owner and the owner’s grandson, it was probably no wonder.

The company in question was an electronics manufacturer, one specialized in making high-quality, high-end computer and scientific equipment.

Dying, though, because _high-quality_ came with a price tag consumers weren’t willing to pay - not when components could be manufactured for a fraction of the cost elsewhere in the world, and shipped over for relatively cheap assembly.  

Roman’s old man was looking to buy the company and sell off all its patents to the highest bidder.

Seemed pretty reasonable, as far as Roman could tell: after looking through The Cesaro Group’s financial statements and seeing the beating their revenue had taken over the past few years, it didn’t look like there was much left to do _but_ sell off the company and squeeze what they could out of its remaining assets.

Willard Cesaro - the elder Cesaro, and the man who’d started the company some fifty years ago - wasn’t keen to sell the company.  It was his dream, he’d told Roman and Seth over dinner, that his grandson Antonio would take over the company and run it until _his_ grandchildren were old enough to take it over.

Antonio, a suave and smart guy around Roman and Seth’s age, seemed less sentimental than his grandfather, but was just as passionate about keeping the company afloat.  He’d mentioned several ideas the company had come up with to cut costs and to move a more sustainable direction, provided Roman’s father invested in them.

Roman had only listened with half an ear, knowing full well that his old man wasn’t interested in salvage.

It was about buying and selling.

Profiting off of dismantling other people’s hard work.

Seth had trailed Roman out to the car after dinner.  He was about Roman’s height, a pit-bull of a guy, ruthless and smart and good-looking in an all-black suit.  They’d tried dating once, way back in college, but Seth was too demanding, and Roman was too busy to be around enough.

Roman only realized it was over when Seth introduced Roman to his new girlfriend.

The hard feelings he expected to have never materialized, and their friendship went on without a hitch.

These days, Seth was sporting a dyed-blond streak in about a quarter of his hair (which, like his goatee was dark brown).  He said he liked the way that streak made people underestimate him.  They took him for some kind of emo punk, and that was usually the time he made their lives miserable.

He was good at that.

“I don’t think even a big cash injection would save that company,” Seth had remarked.

Roman had leaned against his Mercedes’ smooth, dark hide, thinking.  “I’m not even gonna bother bringing it up to my old man.  He’d say no before I got two words out.”

“How we gonna play this?”

“Let them think we’re onboard with helping them stay afloat,” Roman had shrugged.  “Once my dad owns the company, he can just tell them our people crunched all the numbers again, and the company can’t afford to keep operating.  That’s what’s going to happen anyway.”

Seth had smiled.  “Perfect.  So, uh, Antonio was kinda hot, huh?”

Roman had rolled his eyes.  “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’re engaged.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Seth had asked, and he’d sound honestly bewildered.  “Doesn’t count if it’s not in the same area code.”

“I dare you to say that to Nikki’s’s face,” Roman had said, shaking his head.  “You’ll be picking your teeth out of your crap for a month.”

His own track record with relationships was pretty terrible, but he’d never cheated on anyone.

Seth, meanwhile, didn’t look even remotely embarrassed.  Never did.  “She doesn’t need to know.”

“And I don’t need you screwing this up because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”  Boss Roman was not screwing around.  “Besides which, I’m pretty sure Antonio is straight.  I think I read somewhere he has a girlfriend.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Seth had pointed out.  “I have one, but I still fuck dudes.  But fine.  Whatever.  I’ll go to a club and find somebody.  I haven’t been out in forever.  Speaking of needing to get laid," he added pointedly, "when’s Cody flying out?  Will he be here for that gallery thing you've got tomorrow night?”

Roman’s boyfriend.  “I still need to make arrangements, but probably.”

He hadn’t even asked yet, honestly, but he was sure Cody would be fine with that.

And now, as he drove back to his hotel, he toggled his phone’s voice command and told it to dial Cody.

He’d been dating Cody Rhodes, a successful financial advisor in New York, for about eight months.  Wasn’t a lot of flash and fireworks, but it was breezy and pretty low-key.  Things between them were stable, low-maintenance.  Not _amazing_ , but decent.

Cody picked up after the second ring.  “Hi, Roman.”

A little cooler than usual.  Roman frowned as he negotiated the car around a slow-moving semi.  “Hey, babe.  How are you tonight?  Whatcha up to?”

“I’m fine - just getting home,” Cody replied, and that coolness, Roman realized, probably fatigue.  “Late night at the office.  Where are you?”

“California,” Roman said.  “Looking at a company for my dad.  And I’m wondering if you’d mind flying out here for the week.  On the jet, of course.  I’ve got a few events I’m going to while I’m here, and I thought it’d be nice to have you here.”

He had time to drive probably a full mile along the interstate before Cody answered, “Are you kidding me, Roman?  I can’t just drop everything and fly out somewhere!”  Anger drove up the volume of his voice to the point it boomed through the car’s speakers.  “I have appointments all week.  If you’d told me about this last month, I might have been able to make arrangements, but right now, no.   Not happening.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, babe,” Roman said, shifting into the left lane and cruising on by a couple more trucks.  “It was kind of a last-minute deal.”

“ Well obviously you knew before right now.”  Cody sounded pissed.

“Yeah,” Roman admitted around a wince.  “I knew last week.”

“When you were off fucking around in Colorado ”  Cody’s sigh hissed like a snake.  “Which you didn’t bother to tell me about until you were there, either.”

“You were busy,” Roman pointed out mildly.

“That doesn’t mean you wait to call me until you’ve been in Denver for two days!  Jesus Christ, at least send me a text or something!”  Cody paused for a beat, and then: “I can’t do this anymore, Roman.  You’re never around when I need you to be.  You blew off my charity drive last weekend.  You blew off flying down to see my parents.  You take off for trips without telling me.  I’m starting to think you are screwing around on me. ”

Roman took a breath, made himself loosen his death-grip on the wheel.  “I’m not.”

“The point is, Roman, we’re done.   I’m done.  You’re too busy working and I’m tired of waiting around for you to stop being such a thoughtless asshole.”

“Thoughtless?”

In what had to be a case of the universe laughing its ass off at him, the call cut off right there.  It just ended with a quiet _click_.   He felt like he’d walked right into a brick wall, all his momentum stopped at once.  His stomach knotted and clenched.

On the seat beside him, his phone flashed a picture of an empty battery and the little white picture of plug-in.

Didn’t that just figure?

This kept happening.

He hadn’t meant to be thoughtless; in between meetings with his old man, Seth, and a couple clients this past week, he just hadn’t really had time to give Cody a second thought.  Which probably wasn’t a good thing, but Cody always seemed so understanding about it in the past.

But Cody was hardly the first to accuse him of putting work ahead of everything.

It was the way he'd always been.

Still, it sucked.  It always sucked that it came back to this.  He couldn’t seem to hang onto anyone long enough for it get serious.  For the same reasons: he was gone too much, he wasn’t never _there_ for what whoever he was with wanted to do (mostly because of work), he focused on his work too much.

Sighing, he left the interstate on what he thought was the exit that would take him to his hotel.

Really wasn’t paying a lot of attention to where he was driving, as preoccupied with this setback as he was, so it took him a good five minutes of turning on a bunch of roads to realize he didn’t actually recognize where in the hell he was.  It didn't look like downtown.

Instead of all  brightly-lit new buildings, the street he drove down had a bunch of slouching old brick ones lining both sides.  Some had boards over their windows.  Not many street lights, so heavy darkness sort of clung and hovered all over everything.  Even the signs on a few of the buildings didn’t do much to beat back the night.  Seemed dirty, too, trash scattered in the gutters and here and there.  

It wasn’t entire devoid of life: he passed what looked like a dingy club or something where a handful of stringy people stood outside smoking.  A couple others were walking fast down the sidewalk, their heads down and their shoulders tucked.  And every now and again, he passed by buildings where guys were just kind of idling  around on their own.

This seemed like the kind of place he needed to leave in a hurry.

There didn't appear to be any street signs or anything around to indicate where he needed to go to get back onto the Interstate, either.  With his phone dead, and his car’s GPS a confusing mess of prompts he’d never been able to figure out, it looked like he wasn’t gonna have much choice but to pull over and ask somebody where the hell he was.

He spotted a mangy-looking dude leaning against a street light and headed that way.  Guy was wearing ripped jeans along with a hoodie under a scuffed leather jacket.  Unkempt sandy hair down in his eyes.  Lean.  One of half a dozen other guys along this block, all of whom just seemed to be hanging around and all of whom turned to watch as Roman pulled up to the curb.

The guy detached himself from the pole and ambled over to the car, easy as anything.  It was hard to guess his age.  When Roman rolled down the passenger window, the guy leaned down on the door, a couple of sharp blue eyes homing in on Roman’s face.

“‘S up,” he said, low and gravelly.  “Lookin’ for some fun tonight?”

“Fun,” Roman repeated stupidly, hands slipping to the bottom of the wheel.

The guy shifted.  “Yeah, you know.”  Impatient.  “A little suck ‘n fuck before you head back to your mansion?”

Still confused, Roman blinked.   _Suck ‘n…?_

 _...oh_.

All at once the light went on: the guy was a prostitute, and he thought Roman was a customer.

Embarrassment warmed the back of his neck.  “No, no, no,” he said quickly.  “No, I was hoping to get some directions.  I’m a little lost.  You probably don't know how to get back to the Kingsford Hotel, though, huh?"

It was a stupid way of wording the question, condescending and insulting, and he regretted it the second it came out of his mouth.  The dude leaning against his passenger door glared at him, scowling.  Rightfully so.  “Yeah, why would a piece of street ass know anything about fancy fucking hotels, right?  Fuck off outta here, asshole.”

He shoved away from the car and stomped back toward the light post, leaving a sheepish Roman alone to lean over the steering wheel and rub his eyes.

The hits just kept on coming.

Tonight _sucked_.

What he needed to do was figure out where he was, get back to his hotel, and get drunk - fast.

But Seth’s words from earlier chose to bubble to the surface: _Speaking of needing to get laid…_

He could use that, too.

It'd been weeks since he and Cody had been together long enough to have sex.

Prostitute could be a problem, though, but...

But.

 _Screw it_.

He nudged the car forward a little so he was closer to the street light and the sullen dude, stopped, and leaned over the console so he could talk out the passenger window.  “Hey, man, sorry about that.  I’m having a bad night.  I didn’t mean to come off like an asshole.  What would a night cost me?”

Blunt fingers shoved unruly hair off a pale forehead.  The guy eyed Roman narrowly, calculating.  Wary.  Probably “Five hundred bucks for the whole night.  Plus a ride or a cab back here tomorrow.”

“And for that I get…?”

“No kissing on the mouth,” the guy said.  He hadn’t moved any closer to the car.  “Otherwise it’s whatever you want as many times as you got the stamina for.”

There was a directness about the way he answered that Roman liked; as often as he dealt with slick-talking lawyers and full-of-themselves corporate types, it was nice to have somebody just come straight and tell him what was what.  Didn’t know if he was being played or not - he’d never done anything like this before - but five hundred bucks for him like change in somebody else’s couch.

He tugged his wallet out of his suit jacket’s pocket and freed two one hundred dollar bills and a fifty.   “I still need directions, too.”

The guy approached the car.  “Part of the price already.  So we doin’ this?”

“We’re doing this,” Roman said, unlocking the passenger door.  “Get in.”

“Money?”  The guy pulled open the door, but didn’t climb in.  “That’s first.”

“Here.”  Roman passed over the two-fifty.  “What’s your name?”

“Dean,” the guy said, stuffing the bills into a backpack Roman hadn’t even noticed him grab.  “You?”

“I’m Roman.”

Dean folded his lanky bod into the passenger seat, set his bag by his feet, and buckled up.

 _I just picked up a prostitute_ , Roman thought, pulling away from the curb.

 _What a day_.

Seth would probably laugh his ass off.

* * *

 

“You’re gonna wanna take a left at the next stoplight,” Dean said as soon as Roman pulled away from the curb.  “Go straight until you see the on-ramp for the interstate.  Get back on.  You’re two exits past where you need to be.  You want the Lightbridge exit.”

“I can get it from there,” Roman said.  “I just didn’t know if I’d gone too far or not far enough.  Wasn’t paying attention.  And my phone’s dead, so no GPS.”

Dean didn’t answer beyond a noncommittal grunt.

Roman kept his attention on the road, easing the car into the left lane.  “You from here?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither, obviously.”  Roman cleared his throat, shifted, found himself wondering exactly how _did_ one small talk a prostitute?  Were you supposed to talk about sex positions?  Sex toys?  Preferred brands of lube and condoms?

His passenger wasn’t exactly giving off the friendliest of vibes, either.  Dean sat staring out the window, fingers drumming an absent rhythm on his thighs.  Looked like he was lost in his head somewhere, and Roman decided to leave him to it.

He turned the radio on instead, letting a couple of sports talk hosts fill the up silent spaces.

It was a pretty easy drive back to Kingsford Hotel once Roman found his way back onto the interstate, and traffic was light enough at this time of night that it didn’t take long at all.

Set back in its own plaza with a large fountain out front, the Kingsford Hotel oozed luxury, but in a much more low-key and, in Roman’s opinion, tasteful way than some of the better-known hotels in the city.  Unlike a lot of people he knew - like Seth - Roman wasn’t someone who felt the need to flaunt that fact that he could afford to spend thousands a night on hotel suites.  He didn’t name-drop hotels as a way to big himself up.

Of course, he didn’t need to: his name was not exactly unknown in the business world.

As he made the turn into the hotel’s drive, Roman glanced over at Dean.  “Have you ever been in here?”

“No,” Dean said, eyes on the building ahead of them.  Not much expression on his face, so Roman had no idea what he was thinking.  “Driven by here a few times, is all.”

“It’s pretty nice,” Roman said, easing his Mercedes right on up to the valet area.  “Thanks for the directions, by the way.  Sorry again if I was rude.”

Dean gave him an odd look.  “Everybody has bad days, man.  Don’t worry about it.  I didn’t mean to bite your head off.”

“It’s all right.”

Roman guided his car to a stop right at the valet stand, where Enzo, an intense little dude with wild hair stood waiting.

He bounced over to the driver’s side door as soon as Roman stopped the car, a ball of energy in a blue uniform.  He had some kind of intricate pattern shaved into his hair on the sides - almost looked like cheetah spots.  The back, which was up in a mess of a ponytail, was bright blond.  And he’d grown a full beard since the last time Roman had seen him.

“Mr. Reigns!” he said as soon as Roman had climbed out of the driver’s seat.  “How ya doin’?  Long time no see!”

“Good, man,” Roman said.  He slipped Enzo some cash.  “And you?  How have you been?”

“Upright and breathing air.  No complaints at all.”  His eyebrows went up suddenly, and his attention shifted to a point over Roman’s shoulder.  “I see you have company.  Evening, uh, sir.”

Roman glanced over his shoulder in time to catch Dean frowning off at the hotel behind them.

“He’s an old friend of mine, Enzo,” he said.  “Anyway, I want the car fueled and washed before tomorrow morning.  I have a meeting at nine, so I’ll be leaving here around eight-fifteen.”

“Yessir, yessir,” Enzo said quickly.  “Eight-fifteen.  We’ll get it done.  Have a good night.”

“Thank you,” Roman said, stepping around the front of the car.  He glanced over at Dean.  “Ready?”

Dean’s hand tightened around his backpack’s strap.  He flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

The Kingsford lobby was large, open area with shiny white marble flooring.  The reception desk stood near the entrance.  Opposite that, near a bank of huge windows that offered a great view of the bay, was a seating area full of leather chairs.

The thing that made it pop was the flower arrangements: unique vases full of whatever was seasonal all over the place, bright splashes of color that livened everything up.  Roman had no idea what any of the flowers actually were, but it felt like a nice touch.

Tonight, for some reason, both of the hotel’s managers were behind the front desk with Becky, the fiery redhead  who usually watched the desk in the evenings.

Tyler Breeze and Fandango had been managing this hotel for the last two years.  A couple of pretty boy model-types, Roman had at first dismissed them as clueless _Zoolander_ wannabees.  He was wrong, though.  Fandango actually had a decent head for business, while Tyler had a good handle on keeping the hotel running smoothly.  The pair of them personally arranged all the flowers, too.

Both of them happened to be looking Roman’s way when he led Dean by the desk, and both wore identical expressions of disapproval.  Becky just seemed curious.

“Mr. Reigns, I think a homeless person followed you in,” Tyler said.  “Do I need to call security?”

Dean tensed even more.  His hands all but strangled his backpack’s worn straps.

Roman gave Tyler a cool look.  “Dean is my _guest_ , Tyler.  He’s an old friend of mine.  Don’t be rude.”

Tyler’s pouty mouth tightened.  “My mistake.  We’re used to our _guests_ having a certain standard of dress.  I’m sure you can understand.”

Fandango nudged Tyler’s shoulder.  “We’re sorry, Mr. Reigns.  Your suite is ready and waiting.  If you need anything tonight, Becky will take care of you.”

“Thank you,” Roman said curtly.  “Good night.  Let’s head up, Dean.”

He waited until he had Dean alone in the private elevator that led to the suit to look over.  “Sorry about that.”

Dean, slouched against the wall beside him, shook his head.  “‘S fne.”

It really wasn’t, but Roman didn’t argue.  He leaned against his own wall and took a proper look at the guy he’d picked up:

Kind of rough around the edges, was Roman’s first thought.  Decent-looking in kind of a rugged way.  A couple days’ worth of stubble prickled his cheeks and chin.  The yellowing remains of a bruise lay under one eye, along with a mostly-healed cut on his cheek.  The sandy brown hair at the back of his neck curled in every direction; looked like it hadn’t met a comb in a while.

The jeans and black shirt were worn, but clean.  Same with the leather jacket.  Boots were dirty.

When they’d stepped into the elevator, Roman noticed they were about the same height.  Dean was on the lean side, though.  Not exactly skinny, but Roman had an easy thirty pounds on him.

Narrowed blue eyes studied Roman right back, but Roman once again couldn’t make heads or tails of what was Dean was thinking.

He had a hell of a poker face.

If he was angry about Tyler’s comments downstairs or the one earlier, it didn’t show.

Roman’s usual suite took up half of the hotel’s top floor.

The main door opened into huge sitting area, complete with a bar, and a big flat-screen TV.  It was all done up in tans and off-whites, with dark wood tables and tan furniture set around the room.  There was even a dining table with enough space for, easily, fifteen guests.  It sat right next to floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an even better view of the bay and the city than the lobby windows did.

It had three bedrooms attached to it, plus a huge bathroom and its own private deck off the master bedroom.

Every now and again, he hosted dinners up here to justify the cost of it to himself.

He paused near the bar to watch Dean make his way into the sitting area and take everything in.

Roman found it disconcerting how much trouble he was having getting a read on what Dean was thinking.  Being able to read people came pretty naturally to Roman.  His father taught him at a young age how useful it was to not only listen to people, but watch them.  It was useful in negotiations to be able to tell just by seeing how someone tensed up that a deal was about to go bad.

Dean didn’t seem as tense as he’d been downstairs, and didn’t seem particularly nervous.

He made his way over to the big windows and stood in front of them for a bit.

Roman joined him, the pair of them looking out at the the city at night, and the way the lights reflected on the water.  It reminded Roman of camping on the beach with his cousins when he was a kid.  The stars didn’t quite look like this when they shined down on the ocean, but it was close.

“I like watching the sunrise from here,” Roman said.  “It’s a nice view.”

Dean glanced over.  “There’s a bluff just north of here that’s got a pretty good view, too.  That’s where I go sometimes after I’m done working at night.”

 _Working_.  “Do you mind if I ask how long you’ve been in this particular line of work?”

“A few months,” Dean said.  He pulled his backpack off his shoulders and set it on the floor in front of his feet.  “What do you do?”

“I’m an investor,” Roman said.  “My father owns the company, but I’m the one who actually does the work.   I find all the companies and properties to invest in.  Make the deals.”

“So you guys are kinda like Berkshire-Hathaway, then, or…?”

“Right,” Roman said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.  “We tend to sell off more than he does, but yeah, we’re basically doing the same thing.”

“Mm.”  Dean cleared his throat.  “Speaking of business, you ready to get down to it, or…?”

“Business,” Roman mused.  “Is that what you call it?”

“Exchanging money for a service,” Dean shrugged.  “Sounds like the definition of business to me.”

“Guess it does to me, too,” Roman admitted.  He gave Dean a long once-over look, head to toe, again noting the old clothes and the bruising, the fidgeting, but also the lean body and that rugged, good-looking face.

Those _eyes_.

Beat the hell out being here alone tonight, dwelling about work or the trainwreck that had been his relationship with Cody.

His fingers wandered out on their own to graze the prickly scruff on Dean’s cheek, just below the shiner.  “Yeah,” he said.  “I guess I am.”


	2. Night One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically just sex. A lot of it.

**“New Tricks”** **  
** _II. Night One_

Weird fuckin’ night.

Technically speaking, Dean hadn’t even needed to be out working tonight.  He’d already covered rent for him and his roommate Sami for the month, and, while he didn’t have much extra, he had enough to at least keep them in Ramen noodles, eggs, and milk for a while.  One night off wouldn’t have hurt anything.

Being clean of the fucking coke, finally, man, that made a huge difference where money was concerned.

Then again, extra cash in his pocket wouldn’t hurt.

More to hide away in his ‘get the fuck outta the neighborhood’ fund.

Figured it’d be a typical night of quickies, grabby hands and sticky cars and wadded bills.

Business was business.

Money for a service.

Every now and again, they got rich dudes passing down the block.  Usually married and in the closet.  Desperate for some anonymous _thing_ to scratch an itch that never would really go away before they crawled home to their families.

When the black Mercedes pulled up to the curb, that’d been Dean’s first thought.  Before the window rolled down, he took bets with himself over what he’d see inside.  Figured it’d probably be some gray-haired dude in an expensive suit, clammy hands gripping the wheel like it was a lifesaver, and a tremor in his voice when he asked how much.

He was right about the expensive suit part.

It was smoky gray and looked like it probably cost more than a small car.

Everything else he’d been dead wrong about.

What he got instead of the gray-haired dude was a tanned, dark-eyed, dark-haired guy who looked like he’d just stepped right off the cover of fucking GQ.   He had the kind of square-jawed good-looks that probably made underwear drop all over the place.  Killer smile, too. He’d flashed the fucking thing when he’d apologized for being a condescending asshole (which had been a surprise in and of itself, considering guys like that almost never apologized to guys like Dean for anything), and Dean pretty much decided on the spot if this guy decided he wanted some action, the answer would be _fuck yes_.

Five hundred bucks would about cover rent for two months.

And now here he was in this swanky fucking hotel, in a suite that probably cost more per night than his little hole-in-the-wall apartment did for a whole year.

He could have done without the weird looks from the people downstairs, but there again, Roman had actually defended Dean like he was an actual _person_ and not just places to stick a dick.

Roman was a big guy, a little taller than Dean, and a lot broader.

Once he slipped out of his suit jacket and tossed it over the bar, Dean could see the outline of heavy muscle in his shoulders and his arms.  He had thick legs and an ass that rounded out his slacks real nice.  Thick through the waist.

Kinda hesitant, though, because he stood with one hand on the bar, and just sort of watched like expected Dean to make the first move.

And that was fine by Dean.

He dropped his backpack by one of the chairs in the sitting area, and made his way over to the bar.  “C’mere,” he said, grabbing hold of Roman’s tie and tugging on it like a leash.  “How ‘bout I suck your dick as a little warmup?”

The resistance he expected never came.  Roman followed right along, and stood still in front of the chair while Dean set about breaking up all the neat lines of Romans clothes.  Something about crisp dress shirts and razor creases made Dean want to just get it all as wrinkled and messy as possible.  He untucked Roman’s shirt, unbuckled his belt, and tugged open his pants just enough to expose an unsurprisingly heavy bulge trapped in black underwear.

Sinking to his knees, practically drooling, Dean tugged Roman’s pants down out of the way.  He latched onto Roman’s hips, leaned in, and mouthed his way all the way down and back up the fabric - light, just his lips, with the occasional press of his tongue just for that much of an extra tease.

Roman made a quiet, surprised noise that Dean decided he liked.  He also liked it when he felt big hands land soft on his head, fingers threading through his hair.

And he liked the way Roman’s underwear began to stretch around a growing hard-on.

He kept teasing the increasingly-damp front of Roman’s underwear, sucking on the area around Roman’s balls and running his tongue along the straining line of Roman’s dick.  The noise Roman made became more urgent - not desperate, but wanting, this low rumbling near-purr that felt like it was coming from the bottom of Roman’s chest.

When he judged Roman sufficiently teased, Dean reached up with both hands to ease Roman’s underwear down.  “You can sit, if you want,” he said, voice gone a little thick.  Fuck, he was getting hard himself, starting to press uncomfortably against the teeth of his zipper.

That almost never happened when he worked.

Roman remained standing.  “This is fine.”

Sounded a little winded.  Dean shifted his weight a little, and leaned in.  He flicked his tongue out to lap at the leaking slit, and then eased just the tip into his mouth.  It was a nice dick.  Not impossibly huge, but thick enough and long enough he’d probably feel it tomorrow.

But for now, he swallowed as much of it down as he could, one hand breaking away from Roman’s hip to help him out with the part he couldn’t quite take down all the way.  He took his time with it, alternating stretches when he sucked Roman down hard and pulled up slow with these dragging licks from the bottom of Roman’s heavy balls all the way to the tip of his dick and back down again.

“God, that feels good,” Roman groaned, hands tightening a little more in Dean’s hair.  He wasn’t trying to force Dean’s face down or trying to fuck his mouth.  Seemed pretty content to just let Dean do his thing.  And Dean went the extra mile because of it, spending some time gently working over Roman’s balls, mouthing his way sideways along his shaft for bit, and trying to take even more down his throat.

It was nice, being with a guy who wasn’t treating like like a fucking blowup doll.

“That’s it,” Roman murmured encouragingly, panting when Dean bobbed his head a little faster.  His hand moved around to cradle the back of Dean’s head.  “Just like that.  Yeah.  Man, that’s good.”

Dean hummed, and grinned to himself at the way Roman’s breathing hitched.

Roman’s hips began to stutter forward, which Dean took as a sign Roman was getting close to the edge.  He spend up, sucking down hard while his hand twisted up to meet his mouth, quickly, again and again, while Roman rocked with him.

Something about this, the sounds and the way Roman moved, it went straight to Dean’s own dick, which turned into a damn rod in his pants.

Suddenly he was glad this guy had gotten lost tonight.

“I’m close,” Roman panted at him.

“Mm-hmm.”  Dean didn’t stop, and before much longer, Roman tensed up, groaning.  Bitter and salt flooded Dean’s mouth, thick and a little unpleasant.  He swallowed it down as fast as he could to keep from choking, grimacing.  He’d never liked the taste of come, and usually spit it out, but for this one he could suffer.

Once he was sure Roman had finished, he pulled off carefully, aware of how sensitive the big guy probably was, and sat back on his haunches.  Didn’t even try not to look self-satisfied.

Roman sat down heavily in the chair behind him, softening dick still out in the open V of his slacks.  He looked, in Dean’s opinion, much better all rumpled and sex-flushed and fucked out.  One big paw swiped at his eyes and a rueful chuckle followed behind it.  “Damn.”

“Not bad, huh?” Dean said, wiping his spit-slick chin and mouth dry.  Shame he’d never be able to list ‘champion cocksucker’ on his resume.

Deep brown eyes found his, flicked down at the the tented-out front of his jeans.  “You gonna take care of that?”

Dean shifted a little to sit.  “I’ll wait.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Roman said calmly.  “You’re _going_ to take care of that.  Now. Stand up and take your clothes off for me.  Let me see you.”

Oh, Dean _liked_ that tone, dark and heavy with authority.  He kicked his boots off, and climbed to his feet.  And then he gave some hot-ass super rich dude a fucking striptease right there in the living room of a swank fucking hotel.  He _worked_ that shit, too, peeling each layer off slow, swaying his body into the movements in a way he hoped didn’t seem too jerky or weird.

Every now and again, he glanced over at Roman, who’d sat back in the chair and tucked himself in.  Even though he’d just come, the big man still looked damn turned on, dark eyes homed in on whatever skin Dean showed him like a starving man eyeing a full buffet.  He licked his lips more than once, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Didn’t even seem to mind all the scars.

It was a huge fucking turn-on, being watched like that.  Dean’s hard-on never wilted.  It sprang free kind of obscenely when he teased his underwear down, and he caught himself almost smiling at Roman’s appreciative little, “Nice.”

He kicked his underwear into the pile with the rest of his clothes and ran his hand down his stomach, trailing low toward his dick.  “How do you want me to do this?”

Roman got up from the chair, straightening his dress shirt and pants as he did.  “Come here,” he said, gesturing for Dean to follow him.  He paused over by the big picture window.  “Stand right in front of me and lean back.”

That was weird, but Dean did what he was told, leaning back a  little into Roman’s solid warmth.  He made a noise of surprise when Roman stepped so close they were pressed chest-to-back.  Roman’s breath tickled the back of his neck, the side of it, when he pressed a few light kisses there.

Dean focused on the bay outside, on the way the moonlight got caught and stretched on the water, waves making it ripple and sway.

Big hands slid down his sides and settled on his waist.  “Mm, nice body,” Roman murmured in his ear, and damn if he didn’t shudder.  “Take pretty good care of yourself, huh?  Have to to be this trim.  Look at this waist, man.  Nice.  Real nice.”  He brought both hands up to pinch and roll Dean’s nipples, and Dean sucked down a quiet breath at that, at the way it felt.

Heat licked through his body like a slow flame.  “...shit.”

“Like that?”

“...yeah.”  Dean couldn’t even focus enough to bristle at how smug Roman sounded.

“Good.”  Roman’s hands slipped low, gliding down the flat line of Dean’s stomach until they reached his dick.  One hand curled around it, while the other cupped his balls.  “Put your head back on my shoulder.    Lean back a little more.  You’re taller than I thought you were.”

He didn’t have to tell Dean twice.  But it wasn’t the bay Dean watched now.  It was the dim reflection of Roman’s arm working when he started stroking Dean off, the white of his shirt contrasting just enough to be visible.

Roman’s hand felt good - damn good.  Not quite firm enough on the grip, but the tease was almost enough to push him over anyway.  “Fuck.”

“Yeah?” He could practically feel Roman’s smile against the back of his shoulder.  “That good?”

“A little tighter?” Dean panted.

“Sure.”  Roman obliged with both hands, fingers rolling Dean’s balls and his hand stroke-stroking away on Dean’s pre-come slick dick, all nice and tight and at a good pace.  “I really like this view.”

“Me too,” Dean managed.

Smell of sex in the air, earthy and already familiar.

He felt lit up all over, heated and wired, _ready_ ; he watched Roman’s arm in the window through half-lidded eyes, hips rocking in time with Roman’s movements.  Roman ground his pelvis against Dean’s ass every time, too, keeping him pinned in place.

It was just a hand-job, but _holy fuck_ , was it intense.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” he groaned suddenly.  “Fuck…”  And that fast, he was _there_ , Roman relentlessly jerking him off to a hell of a satisfying orgasm.  It hit him all at once, just _bam_ , that intense rush and the relief right afterward.  He rode it out with his eyes squeezed shut, his entire focus on that one point of contact between himself and Roman, on how fucking _good_ that felt.

He reached out for the window to steady himself when his knees wanted to buckle, the cool glass helping him come back down down.  “God.”

A strong arm hooked around his stomach.  “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, blinking his eyes open.  “Hoboy.”

“Now you know how I felt,” Roman chuckled.  “Hold tight.  I’m gonna go grab a towel to clean this mess up.”  Some of Dean’s come had dripped onto the floor.  Fortunately, it was hardwood.  “I think we should take a bath after that.  Have a drink.  Help yourself to whatever you want out of the bar.  Or there’s beer and water in the fridge behind it.  Maybe some soda, too.  I haven’t looked.”

“‘Kay.”  The loss of warmth when Roman moved away made Dean acutely aware that he was standing there bare-ass naked, his sticky dick going limp.   It was a little chilly.

Not terribly embarrassing, though.

He wobbled over to pick up his clothes out of the middle of the floor while Roman took care of clean-up.

 _Hell of a night_ , he thought.

Already.

* * *

 Twenty minutes later found them sinking into a bubbling in-floor whirlpool tub, hot coconut-scented water closing around them like a curtain.

Something about the smell always reminded Roman of home.

Dean, meanwhile, sat on the opposite side of the tub and took in the enormous bathroom with the same quiet, unreadable look on his face he’d sported when he’d walked into the suite earlier.

“You could have a party of fifteen in here,” Roman offered, mostly to break the silence.  Dean hadn’t said much of anything since he’d come, instead quietly padding over to grab his things and to get himself a beer before he followed Roman into the bedroom.

“Mm.”  Dean slid a little deeper into the water, so it came up to his chin.  “I dunno know whether to be impressed or pissed off that it’s bigger than my whole apartment.”

“It’s a little much for one person,” Roman conceded.  It was wide open, done up in the same neutral colors as the living area - beiges and off-whites - and actually did have enough room to fit probably twenty people comfortably.  There was a shower big enough for six in one corner, two vanities, and a separate room in the back with the toilet and another sink.  Cody never had trouble fitting in a place like this, but for Roman, it felt like being a single grain of sand inside a bucket.

He leaned back against the side of the tub and stretched his arms out.  When he did, he noticed Dean’s curious gaze find its way over to his arm.

His sleeve, he realized.  The tattoos.

“Samoan,” he said by way of explanation, and held his arm out.  “Here.”

Dean sat up and reached out a wet hand to take Roman’s wrist.  Like a kid looking at a new toy, he turned Roman’s arm over gently and examined all the intricate lines and patterns that covered it.  “Shit, this really cool.  This all mean something?”

“Cultural things, yeah,” Roman nodded.  “A lot of the guys in my family have these.”

“Turtle,” Dean said, fingers ghosting over the tattoo on the underside of Roman’s forearm.

“It means peace and longevity.”

“Right on.  How long did it take you to get this done?”

“This one was about seventeen hours over a couple days.”

“Jesus.”  Dean let Roman’s arm go, sank down low in the water again.  “I couldn’t do that.  I hate needles.  That’s cool, though.  Real intricate.”

“I had a good tattoo artist,” Roman nodded.  Pleased, for some reason.  “So where are you from?”

“Ohio,” Dean said.  “Cincinnati.”

“Huh,” Roman grunted.  “How’d you end up here?”

After a pause, Dean dragged a dripping hand through his hair.  “Needed to get _out_ of Ohio.  This was the first place that me and my roommate agreed on.”

“Mm.”  It felt like there was probably more to the story, but Roman decided not to push.  “How did you end up in this line of work?”

Working the streets.  How the hell did anyone end up there?

“Owed somebody a lot of money in a hurry.”  Dean’s tone was completely matter-of-fact.  “Did what I had to to raise it.  Mean, it’s not _just_ that.  There’s other things, too, but that was the big one.  Pays the rent pretty quick.  I know a regular job would, too, but this is only for now.  ‘Til things get stable again.”

“How did they get unstable?” Roman asked, peering through the steam.  “Mind if I ask?”

“Drugs,” Dean said.  “I’m clean now, but hasn’t always been the case.   But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“That’s cool,” Roman said.  He picked up his whiskey and sipped it.  “Good you got clean.”

It was, too; it would’ve been just his luck that the first prostitute he’d ever picked up was a junkie.

“Yeah.”  Dean sat up enough to grab his own drink, but just fidgeted with it.  “You said you’re Samoan?”

That was not a subtle hint.  Roman took it anyway, and directed the conversation onto a topic he didn’t mind discussing: where he came from.  Sometimes he missed the simpler days in Pensacola so much it made him just ache with it, but he never minded talking about it.  His family, his hometown, the beaches - he talked about it all while the water bubbled around them.

As he talked, he found himself relaxing, a combination of the steam and the alcohol and a mellow guest whose attention never wavered.  Across the tub, Dean seemed to relax, too, eventually propping his feet up by Roman’s hip and arms spread on either side of him along the edge.  Every so often, he’d nudge Roman’s thighs with a couple toes or toss out a question to show he was listening.

When Roman ran out of things to say about home, they talked a while about football - Dean was a Bengals fan, while Roman liked the 49ers - and music and movies.

But it was when Roman made a reference to his cousin Dwyane, the pro wrestler turned actor, that they really seemed to find a groove.

Not about Dwayne himself, but pro wrestling.

When Roman mentioned that he was not only still into pro wrestling, but that his family was part-owner of the WWE, Dean lit up like a firework.

“I fuckin’ love that shit,” he said, bright eyes and a dimpled smile.  Roman liked that smile a lot.  Dean really was a good looking dude, now that Roman’d had a proper look, but that smile was something else.  Took him to a whole different level.  “I watch all the WWE stuff I can.  Like, Lucha and New Japan, Ring of Honor, some of the indies - I go to the library and get on the internet sometimes to catch up on it.  Read books and shit.  I’m way into it.  All the old stuff especially.   I loved all that old shit where you had big gnarly dudes just beatin’ the shit out of each other.  Or dudes like Bret and those guys.  Eddie and Edge and all them.”

“Bret was my favorite as a kid,” Roman said, smiling himself. “His match versus Austin at Wrestlemania X3 is still one of my favorites.”  He’d been ringside for it with his old man - one of the first and last times they went to anything like that together.  “I actually got to meet him that night.”

Dean’s jaw dropped.  “No way!  That’s fuckin’ cool!  I loved Bret when I was a kid, too.  Dude wasn’t the biggest in the yard, but he was scrappy as hell.  I loved that.  Kept getting back up, even when assholes would knock him down.  What was he like?”

“Cool.  Autographed some stuff for me and let me take a picture with him even though he was all worn out.  I still have it.”

“ _Nice_.”

“Yeah, it was.  It was a lot of fun.”

“Wrestlemania, huh?”

Roman nodded.  “I go every year.”

After that, they were off to the races, Roman explaining that he’d been going to Wrestlemanias and one or two other Pay-Per-Views every year since he was a little kid, while Dean told Roman how he’d actually wanted to train as a wrestler but had never really known how to go about it.

“Then I got hooked up with a real bad crowd, and everything got to be about drugs and shit, so…”  He shrugged.  “Now it’s kinda how I relax and unwind.”

“You know," Roman said, "there _are_ wrestling schools around.  If you got yourself healthy and in shape, there’s no reason you couldn’t try out for one.  If that was something you still wanted to do.”

“I mean, it’s a real nice thought, but my situation’s a little complicated.  Plus, it’s pretty expensive.  But it’s - yeah, it’s cool to think about, anyway.”

He pulled the conversation back to some of his favorite matches. Roman again took the hint, and didn’t push where he clearly wasn't wanted.

It was all right.  He found he didn’t mind listening at all.

They talked until the water got too cold to stand, and then climbed out, Dean still yammering away about Harley Race and NWA.  He threw his empty beer bottle in the trash while he toweled off, and waited patiently in the doorway for Roman to towel-dry and brush back his hair.

Once he was done, Roman ambled over and hooked two fingers into the towel around Dean’s narrow waist.  It hit the floor at exactly the same time as Dean stopped talking.

Roman brought both hands up to wander the scarred landscape of Dean’s chest and sides again.  Old white lines meandered across Dean’s skin like roads on a map.  A lot of them.  Marks of a tough life, probably, if those and the fading shiner were any clue.  Roman traced the longest of the scars - a slice down Dean’s lightly-furred pec - with the back of a fingernail.  He held Dean’s gaze as he did, curious; Dean poker faced it again, just smiling a little Mona Lisa smile as he raised his own hand to drag gentle knuckles down the mat pattern on Roman’s shoulder.

Something about that smile made Roman want to kiss it away, but when he dipped his head down to do just that, Dean turned his face away.

Right.

_No kissing._

Well.

That was fine: Roman kissed his way along Dean’s stubbly jaw and down the side of his neck, all the way to his collarbone and back up.  Dean’s breathing picked up, and he made these great little bitten-off noises in his throat, little vibrations Roman could feel against his lips.

Roman bent a little more and latched onto one of Dean’s nipples, sucking on it, drew the flat of his tongue over it after it hardened.  He pinched Dean’s other nippple between a couple of fingers, a light tease, and nearly chuckled at the way it made Dean squirm.

“...fuck.”

“Good idea,” Roman rumbled right into Dean’s ear, and the way Dean shuddered went straight to Roman’s cock.  “How about we take this to the bed, hmm?”

He punctuated the question with a sharp nip right on Dean’s pulse point, and this time he _did_ laugh a little at Dean’s startled yip _._ This was going to be a fun night. “Yeah, fuck yeah.”

He got Dean all spread out on the huge canopy bed, all nice and loose on his back with his legs open.  His dick lay half-hard against his thigh.

And _that_ had challenge written all over it, so Roman lowered himself down and proceeded to touch and kiss every inch of skin he could.  Soft.  He kept everything _soft_ and _easy_ .  With the scars on his skin and the hardness of someone who was used to things being rough, Roman figured _this_ would be the best way to wind him up.

Every so often he sucked a mark somewhere, though, just to keep from being predictable.

Dean seemed to completely zone out into it, hard breathing and half-lidded eyes and red-flushed cheeks, his dick leaking where it poked up stiff against his stomach.

It wasn’t enough, though; he was too quiet, little more than the hitches and gasps of his breathing breaking the room’s silence.

“Roll over,” Roman commanded him.  “Hands and knees.  Spread your legs.  Don’t be shy, either.  I want to know if I’m making you feel good.”

“Y’are,” Dean croaked.  “But I should…  You’re doin’ all the work.  Sure y’don’t want me to…?”

Roman patted his hip.  “I’m paying for you, so I can do what I want.  Wait - before you get settled, do you have supplies?  I don’t think I brought any with me.”

Cody usually took care of things like that.

“Oh.”  Dean blinked a few times, licked his lips, flapped a lazy hand toward the chair.  “M’backpack.”

“I’ll get it,” Roman said dryly, rolling to his feet.  He padded over to the chair bare-assed and hoisted a surprisingly heavy backpack.  “Jeez, man, what’s in here?  Rocks?”

He flopped it down in Dean’s general vicinity, and looked on in amusement as Dean dragged himself up to sit.  “Mm.  No.  Supplies.”

That was no joke.  Dean had almost a dozen boxes of condoms in various sizes and textures, two bottles of lube, mouthwash, hand wipes, hand sanitizer, a bottle of water, a small towel, and a change of clothes in there.

Roman raised eyebrows over it.  “Holy crap, man.  You’re prepared.”

Dean fished out a box of XL condoms and the fuller of his two lube bottles.  “I don’t always have a chance to go wash up in a bathroom between jobs.  That, and I don’t trust anybody’s condoms they pull out of their wallets, you know?  I’m clean, and I’d like to stay that way.”  He dropped the backpack back onto the floor.

Weirdly charmed and relieved all over again, Roman grabbed the condoms and freed one.   “It’s good you’re smart about it. Hands and knees.  Now.”

It was nice, how quickly Dean complied, going to his hands and knees in the middle of the bed, knees pulled open wide.

Instead of diving into to just finger him open, though, Roman took advantage of the fact they were both freshly bathed to _eat_ him open.  He worked his way up to it, peppering both of Dean’s asscheeks wtih light, biting kisses that got progressively closer and closer to his rim.

At the first swipe of Roman’s tongue around it, Dean’s head snapped up.  “ _Holy fuck_.”

“Mm.  Like that, huh?” Roman laughed.

Dean just groaned and lowered his head all the way to the mattress, hips pushing back like he wanted more.

That was all the prompting Roman needed; he went all in, soft licks to firm, his hand rubbing the back of Dean’s balls and slow-stroking his cock.  He pushed his way in, and by then it was spit-slick enough back there it didn’t take much to slip a finger in beside his tongue.  Dean’s hips stuttered and jerked, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to fuck himself into Roman’s hand or ride his mouth, and _now_ he wasn’t quiet, groaning muffled curses into his forearm.

Roman worked a careful second finger in and began to loosen Dean in earnest.  All the while, he kept probing for Dean’s prostate.

When he found it, Dean _bucked_ .  “...ho, God.   _Fuck_.”

Naturally, Roman went after that spot again and again, teasing it until Dean was practically fucking himself on three of Roman’s slicked-up fingers.

Probably getting close to coming, which Roman didn’t want, so he let go of Dean’s dick, which was very slick by now with precome, hard and warm.

Dean actually _whined_.

It was great.

Roman nipped one buttcheek, wiped all the spit off his chin..  “Ready to ride me?”

“...uh-huh,” Dean managed.  He lifted his head.  Glazed, dazed eyes met Roman’s, and Roman couldn’t help but laugh.  His hair had begun to dry and frizz up. Deep flush in the face.  He looked fucked-out already, and moved like he was drunk.  “Shup.  Lay down.”

“Get me ready, then,” Roman said, stretching out on his side of the bed.

Clumsy hands fumbled a condom open and managed to roll it onto Roman’s very hard and very neglected dick.  Dean dumped out way too much lube into his hands.  He swiped a bunch onto the condom and wiped the excess off onto Roman’s chest.

“Hey!” Roman protested, laughing all over again.

But Dean seemed to have a single-minded need to get Roman’s dick in him.  He didn’t hesitate to straddle Roman’s hips, line up Roman’s dick on his his hole, and sink down on it.

“...oh, _fuck_ ,” he gasped as he slid down an inch at a time.

It felt good, that tight heat wrapping itself around like it’d just been waiting.  Roman breathed out hard, like, “Ho, man.”

When Dean bottomed out all the way, he hung his head and rested his hands on Roman’s chest.  “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Roman asked, a little breathlessly.  

His dick was pretty much throbbing; he needed to move in the worst way, but wasn’t about to push before Dean was ready.

“Yeah,” Dean eventually answered.  He shifted around a little.  “ _Fuck_ yeah.”

“Then ride me, cowboy,” Roman said, hands finding their way to Dean’s narrow hips.  “Giddyup.”

When Dean _did_ , he didn’t just bounce on Roman’s cock; he worked his hips around, forward and back, and side-to-side, almost gyrating.  It looked a little ridiculous, especially with the way his own dick bounced, but he clenched tight when he did it and _God_ it felt good.

Roman wasn’t even embarrassed at the long, drawn-out groan that escaped his throat.  

“Like that?” Dean panted.  The flush had spread down to his chest, lava slowly creeping away from the volcano.  Even with glassy eyes, he looked smug as hell.

He swiped his thumbs over Roman’s nipples and just rocked ‘n rolled.

Wasn’t much Roman could do but close his eyes and enjoy the ride.

Except:

“Get yourself off,” Roman panted when he felt himself getting close.  “I wanna see you.”

“Fuck, thought you’d never ask,” Dean muttered, and he wasted no time, licking his palm and wrapping his hand around his dick.  He lost a little of that motion in his hips as he worked himself over, but Roman made up for it by fucking up into him.

There was a sharp, satisfying _slap_ when they hit together.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean gasped.  “Oh, God, _fuck_ , Roman, right there.  Right there.  Like that, yeah.  Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s right.  That’s right,” Roman panted.  “Say my name again.  Say it.”

“Ro-oman,” Dean said, the ragged word breaking in the best way in the middle.  Glassy eyes held Roman’s, but just barely.  He was real close to completely losing it.

“ _Again_ ,” Roman demanded.  He was close himself, right on the edge.

“ _Fuck_ , Roman,” Dean groaned, and his whole body clenched up for a second before it relaxed, and he was gone, coming all over Roman’s chest and stomach.  “Shit.”

Roman closed his eyes and followed him over, fingers clenching Dean’s hips and _pounding_ his way to the end in that slick, tight heat.  He came hard, harder than he had in while, his ears practically buzzing from it.  He rode it out that way, closed eyes and tearing breaths, and sweat beading on his forehead.

Blindly, he reached up and pulled Dean down to his chest, wrapping arms around Dean’s broad back and nuzzling into the side of his neck.

Dean sighed quietly, body relaxing into the embrace.

They were a mess, but right then, Roman was too blissed-out numb to care.

* * *

 If they’d stopped there, Dean would have been pretty damn happy with how the night went.

It didn’t stop there.

After they cleaned up, they slept for a while.  Dean didn’t think he’d be able to, but he found himself trapped against Roman’s chest.  The heavy arm locked around his shoulders didn’t leave him much choice _but_ to close his eyes and drift off, boneless and well-fucked.

The sound of a door closing somewhere shook him awake just after two-thirty in the morning.

He hadn’t even noticed Roman get up.

Roman padded back into the bedroom with a plate in hand.  He’d thrown on a silky black robe and had pulled his hair back into a tight bun.

On seeing Dean blinking blearily at him, Roman smiled.  “Did I wake you?  Sorry.  My sweet tooth started kicking when I woke up.  They’ve got the best chocolate-covered strawberries here.”  He sat down on the edge of the bed.  “I’m kind of addicted.”

“Oh.”  Dean pulled himself up to his elbows.

“Try one?” Roman held up a fat berry, deep red and dark chocolate, wiggled it.

“Sure,” Dean grunted, trying to work some moisture into his mouth.

“Here.”  Roman held it up to Dean’s lips.  “Take a bite.”

Obediently, Dean bit into the fruit.  He was not an enormous fan of strawberries, but this one was ripe and sweet, and with the smooth, bittersweet of the chocolate, it wasn’t bad at all.  Probably helped he hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.  “‘S good.”

“They are.”  Roman ate one himself.  “Good thing I can’t get these all the time or I’d be as big as a house.”

He alternated feeding Dean another one, and eating one himself until all six were gone.

The sugar went a long way to perking Dean up, and by the time he’d swallowed his last bite, he was aware enough to recognize a different kind of hunger in the gray of Roman’s eyes.

 _Want_.

It hit Dean a little weird, being looked at like that, so when he popped into the bathroom to splash some water on his face, he reminded himself that it was nothing personal.

This incredibly hot rich dude was just hungry for _sex_.

He’d bought and paid for a full night, and clearly intended to get his money’s worth.

And Dean was okay with that.

When he stepped out into the bedroom, he found Roman splayed out on the bed, _gloriously_ naked, a lazy hand stroking his dick in what had to be the world’s most obscene invitation.

Who was Dean to turn him down?

He crawled onto the bed and straddled Roman’s legs the way he had before, only this time he decided to take a page out of Roman’s book and try the foreplay thing: nipping little kisses, long licks and scraping touches down Roman’s sides, and some time spent working Roman’s nipples to hard points.

While he did, Roman made these little encouraging noises, hums and the occasional quiet, “Do that again.  Just like that.  That’s good.  Real good.”

What really got Roman, though, was the scrape of stubble right on one nipple.  Dean accidentally dragged his chin lightly across the tip of one, and Roman’s chest hitched with a startled breath.  The exhale was just this breathy, “Ohhhh.”

Dean did it again on the other nipple, and the reaction was exactly the same, Roman mouth gone a little slack and his eyelids heavy.

 _Gotcha_.

He worked his way around Roman’s whole body, ignoring his cock for a while to skim fingers down his legs, and _yeah_ , Roman seemed into it.  He stayed hard the entire time, and he had this weird smile on his face every time they made eye contact.

Eventually, Dean made his way back up to Roman’s dick, and bent down to take just the head into his mouth, sucking it nice and easy.

“Oh man,” Roman said thickly.  “That feels good.  You can…  But don’t get me off, okay?  I want you again.”

Dean pulled off long enough to grab the lube and a condom out of his bag, and then returned to the task at hand.  Blowjob deluxe.  Every trick he knew to get somebody off slowed down and dragged out, both to give himself time to loosen up again and to really get Roman wound up.

Roman, he thought again, was great to give head to: he wasn’t just lying there passively; he was plenty vocal about what felt good to him (he especially liked these long, slow licks from the bottom of his sack all the way to the tip of his dick).  The hand in Dean’s hair didn’t jerk or pull.  He didn’t move, either, until Dean said it was okay; even then, he was careful, fucking up into Dean’s mouth without trying to force his dick too far in.

The wind-up worked, because suddenly Roman panted for Dean to stop.

Strong hands grabbed Dean and threw him down on his back, knees nudging his legs apart.  Roman hovered over him, pupils blown and dark, panting.

Hard himself and feeling a little defiant, Dean tugged Roman’s hair out of the bun, letting it cascade down around Roman’s face.  It was a mess, sleep matted and in need of a good brushing, but he liked it better this way.  More natural.

Roman didn’t waste a second rolling on a condom and sliding in, thick dick making Dean feel capital F _Full_.  His mouth dropped open when it brushed over his prostate, head falling back on the pillow at the pleasurable little jolt that gave him.

It wasn’t sparks or fireworks, but _fuck_ , it felt good.

And Roman let him have it, pounding into him fast and furious - none of this slow and steady shit.  He hit it hard enough to rattled the bed frame, and Dean rocked with him, knees pulled back to his chest and his hands locked tight around Roman’s neck.

“Yeah,” he panted, “that’s it. Get it.  Give me all you got, Roman.”

That earned him a groan, and, “So good.  Say that again.  Get yourself off.”

Dean slipped a hand down between them and wrapped it around his cock.  “Gimme everything, Roman.”

And he did.

He pounded into Dean so hard it actually moved them on the bed.  Dean nearly hit his head on the headboard after one particularly sharp thrust, and ended up having to brace himself to keep in place.

But after that, he lost himself in it, in the look of fierce concentration on Roman’s face and and the feel of Roman almost lying on top of o him and of the heat pooling in his belly as he skated closer to the end.

It felt so fucking good, all of it.

He panted Roman’s name again and again and that seemed to spur the guy on even more, the mattress shaking and their bodies slapping together and their panting and Dean’s cursing and Roman’s muttered, “You feel so good,” and “Say it again”  filling the room with the best kind of filth.

When he came, he groaned out Roman’s name, loud enough that if they’d had neighbors, there was no way they wouldn’t have heard it.

And Roman lowered himself down onto Dean’s chest, into the mess, and dropped his forehead against the side of his neck, fucking his way hard to his own end.

On blind instinct, Dean wrapped his arms around Roman’s back and held on through it.

Afterward, they were both too fucked out do to much more than make a half-ass attempt at cleaning up.  They passed out pretty much straight away, Dean once pinned between Roman’s chest and one of Roman’s heavy arms.

He didn’t mind: it was comfortable, and he was too fucking glutted to move.

It’d been a long time since he’d been fucked this thoroughly.

Little did he know this was only the beginning.


	3. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are going to be broken out into day/night sections. So this is day two. Next will be night two. Probably could have shortened it up, but the story's so damn vivid in my head I'm going a little self-indulgent with it. This chapter we follow Dean and Roman on their respective days.

" **New Tricks"  
**_III. Day Two_

Roman's alarm woke them just after sunrise, and Roman, the bastard, didn't seem to have any problem with that. Dean, meanwhile, cocooned the comforter around himself and grumbled under his breath. He hated mornings with a fucking _passion_ \- only ever got up to see them when he absolutely _had_ to, and even then, he rarely got up before eleven.

Bastard that he was, Roman unburied Dean from his comfy nest and dragged his sore and tired ass into the bathroom.

He didn't even have the decency to offer Dean any coffee, the jerk.

They ended up in the ridiculously huge shower. Thing had like a million jets and fucking _amazing_ water pressure. Roman had the temperature set comfortably hot, too, which helped loosen Dean's creaky body up and got him to a state of at least partial awareness.

In fairness, Roman did give him a few minutes to soap off with some spicy body wash and to wash his hair.

By then Dean was awake enough to know Roman was probably thinking shower sex.

Definitely thinking shower sex.

He backed Dean up against the rear wall and ran soapy hands over his chest. "Up for this?"

Dean stared, incredulous that Roman would even ask. "I mean, you're paying me, so…"

"That's not what I asked," Roman said. "I want you again, but only if you're up for it. If you're sore or tired, we can do something else."

Huffing a laugh, Dean stepped forward and used Roman's momentary confusion to swap their positions, pushing Roman against the wall. No mean feat. Roman was a big dude, thick and powerfully built, and kind of imposing. Dean took great delight in wrapping a wet hand around Roman's dick and squeezing it, just to get a rise - so to speak - out of him. "You can have me again, Roman. There's plenty of gas in my tank. Takes more than three rounds to put me down. I'm ready to go."

Roman smiled at him, big and slow, and _yet again_ Dean had to remind himself this was just sex.

It was a great smile.

But this would end, and an hour from now, Dean would be headed back to his shithole to shove some money at his asshole landlord, and probably go round up Sami from whatever gutter he'd slept in last night. That was reality. This, this enormous fucking shower and this smoking hot rich dude looking at him with those starving eyes again and those cloud-soft fucking sheets and those great strawberries, this was just fantasy.

End of the night, this was still a job.

But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy this last time.

And enjoy it he did.

Where it got fast and frantic in the wee hours, they took it slow this time, Dean spending a while winding Roman up with hands and mouth, and Roman returning the favor while the shower pounded down around them, thick steam and hot water making everything slick and soft. It was all half-lidded eyes and soft hands and long looks that got Dean feeling all inside-out again.

When Roman took him, it wasn't hurried, either. Dean stood pressed against the wall, legs spread and his cheek resting on the warm tile, Roman a heavy, looming presence behind him. He entered slow, Roman did, slipping in an inch at a time, and not moving until Dean nodded.

No pounding this time.

Roman lowered his forehead to the top of Dean's shoulder and left it there while they rocked and rocked.

Dean honestly lost track of time while he stood there, but that didn't matter.  The burn in his legs didn't matter.  The sharp pain from Roman's fingernails digging into his hips didn't matter.

It felt so fucking good that nothing really mattered.

He almost didn't want to come.

Roman had other ideas, though, because a big wet hand slid down and down onto Dean's aching hard-on and curled around it.  Somehow they got this rhythm going between them where Dean fucked backward onto Roman's cock and forward into his hand, while Roman fucked forward and held tight, and it was loose and messy but _fuck_ it was great - so much so he didn't even know what to pay attention to: the nudge against his prostate or his dick.

Still didn't want to come.

But he did, eventually; they both did, Roman still with his head down on Dean's shoulder and Dean moaning out Roman's name into steam.

For a while afterward, they didn't move. Roman wrapped his arms around Dean's chest and held on; Dean may or may not have leaned back into him. Just a little. Just while he came down.

Disappointment tried to creep in.

He banished it to the back of his mind.

Truth of it was, he was a single-use guy, one time or one night, always tossed to the curb when guys were done with him.

And now Roman was done, so it was back to the curb for him.

That was reality.

* * *

They finished showering in silence, and exited the bathroom.

Leaving the bathroom brought that awkward morning-after silence with it, where Dean didn't have a fucking clue what to say or do. He padded over to his backpack, which had migrated to the bed at some point this morning. A few things needed to be re-packed, but first he grabbed out his spare clothes - the extra tank, jeans, and underwear he kept on him in case things ever got messy during a job - and dressed.

Meanwhile, Roman tugged his robe on and disappeared out into the main room.

He came back in a minute later, bearing a neatly-folded bundle that Dean recognized as the clothes he'd stripped off last night.

"Thanks," Dean said. "I was just about to go round those up."

"I had them washed for you," Roman said, passing everything over. "I had to send my suit down anyway. Forgot you had a change of clothes on you."

"That's okay." Dean slid the whole bundle into his backpack. "I appreciate that, though."

"Part of the hotel's service." Roman reached into his robe's pocket, and came out with some cash. "Here's this, too."

"Ah." Dean pocketed the money without even bothering to count it. "Thanks again."

"No, thank _you_ ," Roman said. "That was… Hell of a night, man. I had a really good time. I'm sure you probably hear that a lot…"

Dean shook his head, smiled. "I really don't, Roman. I'm usually a backseat blowjob or five minutes bent over a the nearest handy surface. I'm not an 'I had a good time' kinda guy, you know?" Roman frowned at that, so Dean waved it away. "For what it's worth, I had a good time, too. So we're even, I guess."

"I guess," Roman said dubiously. "Well, hey, I'm sorry - I was gonna try to get breakfast up here, but I'm running later than I thought. Why don't you go chill in the living room or something? Let me get ready, and I'll give you a ride home."

"You don't have to do that," Dean said. "I could just grab a cab. Or a bus."

"No, I will," Roman said. "I'm headed that way, anyway. I'll be passing your exit, at least, so I can drop you off. Save your money."

"I mean, if you're sure it's no trouble."

"None at all."

"Mind if I chill here, then?" Dean gestured at the bed.

"Whatever you wanna do," Roman shrugged.

"Cool." Dean flopped flopped back down onto the bed, yawning. Today would be a good day to laze around on the couch and read. He was a little sore, but it wasn't bad compared to a lot of nights where the combination of guys being in a hurry and not using enough lube left his ass feeling like ground hamburger.

He drifted while Roman headed off to get ready in the bathroom.

When he surfaced again, Roman was back in the room, dressing. The big man had pulled his hair back into a neat bun, and was already partway dressed: sharp white dress shirt, black underwear that hugged his asscheeks, and his socks. He'd just stepped into his slacks.

Dean whistled appreciatively. "Now _that_ is a view."

Roman glanced around, warm gray eyes and an easy smile. "Yeah?"

"You got a nice ass, man." A very fuckable ass, honestly, all round and muscular, although Dean had a hunch Roman didn't bottom. Guy had _perma-top_ written all over him, which was kind of a shame. Nice to think about, anyway, topping a guy like that. Material for the spank-bank. "Real nice."

"Thanks." Roman straightened and tugged the black slacks the rest of the way up, much to Dean's disappointment. "So do you."

"'Course I do," Dean said. He propped himself up onto an elbow. "So what are you up to today?"

"Meetings," Roman said. "We're going over the books of a company my father wants to buy. It's a tech manufacturing company."

"What do they make?"

"Medical and scientific equipment."

"Like what?  MRI machines and stuff?  Or is it more like microscopes or something?"

"Machines, yeah." Roman finished tucking in his shirt, and buttoned his slacks up. "Mostly my dad wants to buy it to sell everything off. Close it down. There's more money to be had in the patents and the equipment than there is keeping it running."

Dean frowned at that. "So it's running now. Do people work there, or...?"

"Right now, yeah," Roman nodded.

"And you'd just, what, you'd close down the company? How does that work?"

Roman glanced around again, frowning himself. "If a company's losing money, sometimes it's better to get out while you can. It's not a _great_ decision to have to make, but the bottom line for my old man is where do we stand to make the most money? A lot times, it's better to sell off and get out. You give the employees a month's severance pay. It's better for them anyway to get out while they can."

"Better for the employees?" Dean scoffed.

"Maybe not in the short-term," Roman said, reaching for a belt, "but in the long-run they're better off, yeah. Would you rather work for a company that might not be able to pay your paycheck in two months, or would you rather take a month's pay now and have a chance to go look for another job? That's what it comes down to. Wait for the inevitable or cut your losses?"

"That's like asking whether you want a shit sandwich or a shit sundae," Dean said. "You get shit either way. I mean, I guess I get it. If a company's gonna fail, it's gonna fail, and, yeah, you'd wanna get out while you could. Even so, like, you're still without a job."

"Business can be a cold world," Roman admitted. His belt cinched tight, he wandered over to the vanity and picked up a watch. "Believe me, I don't enjoy making those decisions. But we do what we have to. I'd actually rather not talk about it, if you don't mind. What's something you'd really like to do more than anything? A fun thing. If you had the money."

It took Dean a second to switch gears. He was kind of glad for the change; he wasn't all that sure he was comfortable thinking about Roman doing something like that for a living. "Uh, shit. I guess maybe... I dunno. I guess see _Wrestlemania_ from ringside. I've always wanted to do that. Why?"

Roman shook his head, met Dean's gaze in the mirror. "Just curious."

Dean eyed him narrowly. "What about you? I know you wouldn't go to a _Wrestlemania_ 'cuz you've been to most of 'em. What would you do?" It hit him he was asking that of a rich dude who _could_ do anything he wanted. "Never mind. That's a stupid question. You got the money."

There was a pause before Roman said, "I hate to sound like a cliche, Dean, but money doesn't _actually_ buy you everything. There's things I'd like to do that I can't right now because I'm busy working. Like get myself a little beach house somewhere. A dog. Somewhere quiet. No responsibilities. That would be fun for me. I could travel if I got bored. I've always wanted to do like a culinary tour."

"What's a culinary tour?"

"Where you go somewhere - like Italy or France or just about anywhere - and you spend a few days or a week learning about the food and food culture of the area and learning how to cook local dishes. I like to cook. It's one of my hobbies. Do you cook?"

"Just basic stuff," Dean said, shaking his head. "I can cook eggs and toast. Make Ramen. I can microwave a mean frozen dinner, too. 'Bout the extent of it. Sounds kinda different, though. Wouldn't have thought to take a vacation just to wind up in the kitchen. But I guess if you can learn about how they do things somewhere else, that's cool. See, me, I'm definitely into traveling. I don't like stayin' anywhere that long. But I can't really go, either because of my situation."

"I hear that." Roman picked up a silvery-gray tie and slipped it under the crease of his collar. "I'd like to travel more myself. I usually only go places for work. There's always some _event_ I have to go to. Like tonight, I have to be at an art gallery opening. One of our biggest shareholders' nephews or nieces is opening it, so I have to put in an appearance. Then I'm going to a dinner event tomorrow. Friday we're hosting a golf tournament. Then, assuming everything's a go with this deal, I fly out Saturday night. That's on top of the meetings and companies I have to scout while I'm here. And trying to nail down the deal on the company my father wants to buy now."

With each thing Roman listed off, Dean felt his eyebrows climb higher and higher. "Holy shit, you got a lot going on."

"I do," Roman said, practiced hands making quick work of knotting the tie just-so. "Problem is, I'm supposed to have an escort to all these events. My old man's rules. He thinks I look weak if I show up alone to things like that. I _had_ an escort. My boyfriend Cody. Except Cody decided to make himself my ex yesterday. So now I don't have an escort."

"I see…" It didn't matter one way or another to Dean if a guy wanting to pay him for sex was married or taken, usually, but he couldn't deny a certain feeling of relief at the word 'ex' entering the conversation here. In a way, he wanted Roman to be better than the cheating fuckwads who usually pulled up to his curb.

Although he wasn't actually sure why it was coming up now.

"Yeah, so." Roman cleared his throat, turned around, leaned back against the vanity. "I've been thinking. If I paid you, oh, let's say five thousand dollars cash and paid for the clothes you'd need, would you be willing to stick around for the week? Be my escort?"

Dean stared at him, not quite sure he'd heard correctly. "Say what now?"

"I'm serious. It's five days. A thousand dollars a day. You'd go with me to all these events. Keep me company here. I'll pay for your suits and everything."

"Suits."

"They're suit-and-tie events. Except the golf tournament, I guess."

"I don't play golf."

"So you'd carry my clubs," Roman said. It sounded like he'd already made his mind up. "Caddy for me."

"But, like, art and shit - I don't know anything about that. And dinner parties?" Dean looked down at himself. This had _bad idea_ written all over it. "I don't know, man. Probably just make a mess and embarrass you. I don't do too good with people."

"Like I said, you don't have to do a whole lot. Tonight you'd just stand there with me and look at art. Tomorrow night, you'd just sit with me and eat. Friday you'd carry my clubs. It won't be that bad. I'll be with you the whole time. That, and we can have all the sex we can handle. I don't know about you, but I ain't even close to satisfied. That was some of the best sex I've had - and I ain't just saying that. I want you. I want more of you. I don't want you to leave. If you do, if it's no, then I understand, but don't just say no because you're worried about all the parties. You'll be fine. Please?"

 _I want more of you_.

Five thousand bucks.

More time with Roman, too, which was hardly a bad thing.

But suits and being around art and fancy dinners and, probably, rich people…

Then again, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Roman was there.

Really, though, it was five grand.

"Yeeeeeah, all right."

Roman's face lit up with his smile. He made his way over to the bed and leaned down to brush Dean's hair out of his eyes, fingers sweeping across his forehead. "Thank you."

Dean nodded, swallowed. His throat felt dry. "...yeah. Uh, I mean, I gotta go home and, like, take care of some stuff, but…"

"That's okay," Roman said. He patted Dean's cheek. "I'll give you a room key and a credit card. Do me a favor - there's a shop called Regal's about two blocks from here. Head down there this morning. Ask them to get you lined up with two suits. Tell them you need one for tonight. They'll take care of you. Got all that?"

"Regal's," Dean said. "Two suits. Think I can handle that."

"Good." That smile again. It made Dean's stomach go all weird. "If you get hungry or anything this morning, you can order room service. And we'll talk about payment when I get back this afternoon. I actually need to go." But he didn't make a move to leave. "Thanks again, Dean. I really appreciate this."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Sure."

He just hoped he didn't regret it.

* * *

True to his word, Roman left a keycard to the room and a credit card on the bar in the main room.

Dean pocketed them both, threw on his jacket, and decided to head out.

The lobby was empty, thank fuck, and he didn't pass anyone on his way.

He managed to flag down a cab half a block from the hotel, and directed the driver - this impatient little dude with a funky southern accent - to take him back to his place. It was about a fifteen-minute ride, and he took it in silence, just trying to get his head around what had just happened.

Now he knew what it felt like to be caught up in a whirlwind.

Five grand for five days with some gorgeous fucking statue of a dude who didn't think twice about dropping five grand on a hooker he'd just met. Roman had just handed over a credit card without batting an eye, like it never even crossed his mind that maybe Dean would take it and run.

Back in the old days, when drugs were king and Dean would have sold a kidney for another gram of cocaine, this might have been an issue. Temptation was still there. Every day, that clamoring voice spoke up and begged to go get fucked up, but for four months, he'd fought it off. A couple times, it'd been close, but now it was getting easier, the voice quieter.

So Roman's credit card was safe.

To his relief, Sami was at the apartment, passed out on his mattress, the tips of his spiky black hair just visible over the edge of his blanket.

Home sweet hell:

A tiny third-floor hole-in-the wall barely big enough to turn around in. One room, plus a little cupboard of a bathroom with a shower that barely had any water pressure and rarely had hot water. Peeling paint and gray carpet so filthy from nicotine and dirt that it'd turned brown. Always a vague low smell of wet drywall and garbage, even after cleaning. There wasn't much in it besides a couple ripped cardboard boxes full of clothes, two mattresses in the living room, and a stolen flatscreen TV mounted to the wall.

Sami didn't stir when Dean liberated a gross old gym bag and headed over to stuff a few days' worth of clothes, his ancient phone's charger, and a couple ragged paperbacks into it.

He _did_ stir when Dean walked over and nudged him with the foot, a groggy, "Whafuck?" drifting out from under the blanket.

"It's me, Sami," Dean told him. "Wake up, huh? Need to talk to you real quick."

Like Dean, Sami _hated_ mornings, so Dean was completely prepared for the daggers glared at him once Sami rolled onto his back and lowered the covers.

A short, mean little dude who was as tough as he was fearless, Sami Callihan had been Dean's best friend since they were thirteen. They'd bonded over a mutual hatred of school and a love of professional wrestling that'd led them to drop out of school at sixteen.

They never got that far, though.

Sami started to run with some sketchy dudes from his neighborhood, and Dean ended up running with them. They were thugs, all of them, petty criminals and wannabe gangbangers. They stole and vandalized shit, partied for days at a time, fueled by booze and energy drinks and whatever drugs they could get their hands on - which was basically anything they had the cash for. Drugs were rampant in their area, easy to obtain and plentiful, so the party never actually had to start.

The dream of becoming a pro wrestler began to fade as addiction sank its ugly teeth in.

Sixteen became eighteen became twenty became twenty-two.

Drugs became less easy to come by. Close-calls with the cops happened more often. Fights got nasty. The need became greater and greater. It stopped being about _having fun_ and just _functioning_.

Dean crossed the wrong people one night, and Sami got stabbed in the leg because of it, a nasty wound that seemed to take forever to heal. And it was that night Dean decided to move the fuck out of Ohio.

That was nine months ago.

Four months ago, Dean had made the decision to get clean, and had gutted it out through four of the most miserable weeks of his life. Sami still hadn't gotten there yet; no matter how many times Dean tried to talk him into rehab, Sami still passed his days running dope from New Mexico and dealing it on the streets. He worked for this dude named Ray, and good _God_ , Dean was happy that he'd gotten that big fucking bully off his back.

"Y'got exactly thirty seconds t'start talkin 'fore I kick yer ass, fucker," Sami grumped. "Hell you been?"

"Rich guy picked me up last night," Dean shrugged. "Spent the night at the Kingsford Hotel."

Sami's bloodshot eyes narrowed. "Ten seconds."

"I'm serious," Dean said. "I made five hundred bucks last night." Saying this, he freed the cash from his pocket and held it out. "This dude wants to pay me five grand to be his 'escort' for the week. I'm fuckin' doin it."

"... _wha_?"

"Five fucking grand, dude," Dean repeated. "More 'n enough to get us the fuck outta this hole. _And_ if you need me during the day, I can probably be here. Think I'm only gonna be 'working' at night. Five days. Then maybe we can get out of this fucking slum and into a better neighborhood."

There was a long pause before Sami said, "We could go back to Cincy."

He said this a lot, and always sounded like a little kid asking for his mom when he did. Guilt stabbed Dean's heart, sharp and deep. Sami had wanted to stay, had wanted to try to clean up their mess. He'd only left because of Dean, who couldn't go back. "Orton would kill us the second he heard we were back around."

"You, maybe," Sami muttered. He yanked his blanket back up. "Fuck off 'n lemme sleep, then, fucker. Go play whore, 'f that's what y'wanna do. Leeme 'lone. I got real work to do later."

"Real work." Dean sneered. "Yeah, peddlin' dope to teenagers - that's real fuckin' good work."

"'M drivin' to Las Cruces." Sami rolled back over. "But I'd rather push dope than earn money on my knees. I c'n quit drugs. Once you get whore-stink on ya, that never leaves. Now buzz off. Leave some cash on the table."

"Fuck you," Dean said, shoving his bills back in his pocket. "You got real work, so you got your own real money, right? Right. Don't fucking call me if you get arrested."

With that, he settled his gym bag's strap over a shoulder and walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

 _Ungrateful little shit_.

But it always went like this: Sami was always at his nastiest with a cocaine hangover. Once he'd slept it off, he'd call and apologize. They'd be cool again.

For now, Dean swung by the landlord's office to drop off the rent money for next month. His landlord, this bearded barrel of a dude with a creepy cult leader's smile, made a note in his ancient ledger, chuckling to himself.

Dean could not get out of there fast enough.

His next stop, one bus ride later, was the hotel again, where he dropped off his gym bag.

The snotty blond dude from last night was behind the front desk with an icy blonde chick, hair pulled back severely from her face and an diamonds gleaming at her throat. Dean was surprised he didn't freeze in his tracks or turn to stone at the nasty looks they gave him. Like his very fucknig _existence_ disgusted them.

He kept his head up anyway.

On his way back out, he tipped the blonde chick a cheeky wink, and smiled when she wrinkled her nose.

Hell of a nice morning outside, he found. A warm late summer morning. Perfect for a nice walk.

He left the Kingsford on foot strolling past the fountain and out across the parking lot. The hotel was situated on the edge of downtown, so as he turned to his left, a forest of skyscrapers came into view, huge buildings that seemed to reach up and and up and up. Way off in the distance, a couple of news helicopters hovered like tiny white flies.

A lot of traffic rushed by the sidewalk, noisy and hot, people hurrying along on their way. Dean hummed an old country tune under his breath.

Two blocks down, he found what he was looking for: an old-fashioned building, red brick with a couple of large, black-framed display windows flanking the door. The windows were rounded on top and flat on the bottom. Instead of being a single piece of glass, there were many panes in them, black like the frame. Gave it kind of a cool retro style, and didn't really disrupt the view of the mannequins posed inside. The ones in the right window all wore fancy-ass suits that ranged from gray pin-stripe to this patchy kind of brown. On the left, there were coats and hats arranged all neat and arty.

The curved black awning over the door proclaimed the place _Regal's_ in some fancy gold writing.

Dean felt out-of-place just looking at it.

Stepping inside made him feel like a fish _totally_ out of water.

It wasn't like department stores with a million racks of things cluttering every aisle in there. Everything was wood, from the hardwood floors to the shelves of dress shirts toward the back of the store to the long bench in the middle. Only a few racks of suit jackets and slacks lined the walls. Hats and long coats in the back. Low ceilings with track lighting.

At the very front on the left was a wooden counter, and behind it stood a big dude in an all-black suit. He was tapping away on a tablet, but paused to turn a piercing stare on Dean. Pale, cold eyes sized Dean up, and almost immediately, his lips tightened and his eyebrows pulled together. He had that same just-stepped-in-dog-shit look that the prick at the hotel had last night.

Suddenly conscious of how grungy his leather jacket probably looked, of all the holes in his jeans, Dean made his way over to the counter.

"Yes?" the man behind it said. "May I help you?"

He had some kind of accent. British, maybe. Impatient.

Dean cleared his throat. "Um, yeah, I - uh, was sent here to get some suits?"

The guy's frown deepend. "Are you picking up for someone?"

"Buy," Dean said. "I need to buy a couple suits. Two of them. One for tonight."

"Ah." The guy set his tablet down, braced his hands on the counter, lifted his chin all haughty. "I rather doubt this is the place for you, young man. I might suggest you try the discount shop down the street. I reckon they'll have clothing better-suited to your price range."

Heat flared in Dean's cheeks. He reached into his pocket for the credit card, curling his fingers around it. Mostly from taking a swing at _this_ condescending prick's face. "I was _told_ to come here."

"By whom?"

"Roman Reigns. I'm going to some events with him. One tonight. He said you'd be able to get me what I need. A couple suits."

He shifted, itchy and uncomfortable, at the way the guy just stood there, puffed up and full of himself. Fucking gasbag. "He did, did he?"

" _Yes_ ," Dean said. "He did."

"I actually know Roman Reigns, lad," the stuffy prick said, that ungodly sharp gaze narrowing to a cutting point. "Something I rather doubt you can honestly say. If you actually _have_ found his credit card - and I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and not accuse you of _stealing_ it - then I suggest you hand it to me now. I'll see it's returned to him, and you'll avoid the trouble you'd be in otherwise."

"What the-? I didn't fucking steal his credit card," Dean insisted. "He gave it to me and told me to come down here. I'm not making that up."

"Then prove it." The guy's chin lifted again. "If you know Roman, as you claim, call him. Tell him William Regal was concerned about someone coming in with his credit card, and that I wanted to verify this was above-board. As a precaution. He'll understand. If it is, and you _can_ , then we can do business."

The condescending words came wrapped in a nasty smile. Never in his life had Dean wanted to deck somebody more than he did right then. "He didn't give me his number," he said through his teeth. "But if you got it, call him yourself. He'll back me up."

Regal, the stuffy prick, reached under the counter and brought out a cordless telephone, and for a second Dean actually hoped the guy actually _was_ about to call Roman. He was naive. "We're done here." Flat, curt. "Kindly remove yourself from my shop, or I'll phone the police."

"Hey, come on!" Dean reared back and kicked the counter - not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to make the suited asshole behind it jump. He could not fucking believe this was happening. "Fucking call Roman. I'm telling you the truth."

"Jail it is, then," Regal said primly.

Dean shoved away from the counter, growling, blood boiling. He flipped the dude a couple of angry birds and stormed out of the shop, kicking the door on his way.

If there hadn't been so many people out on the street, he would have found a rock or something and thrown it through the bastard's display windows. Fucking serve him right, the miserable stuffed-shirt _dickhead_.

_Fuck does he get off?_

No amount of money was worth this shit - the fucking _looks_ he kept getting from people, like he was an enemy sneaking into their territory just because he wasn't walking in some thousand-dollar fucking threads. Granted, yeah, he _did_ look a little rough in worn-out jeans and a scuffed-up jacket, and yeah, he got maybe wanting to make sure the credit card was legit, but even before he'd open his fucking mouth, that prick had pretty much dismissed him as trash.

He stalked back to the hotel, fuming, bulling past people without even seeing them. All he wanted was to crawl into a bottle of JD and fucking forget this day ever happened.

Forget Roman.

Forget all of it.

Clearly he didn't belong in this world.

By the time he shoved through Kingsford's gold-and-glass front doors, he was red-faced and out of breath. The blonde chick wasn't behind the lobby desk, but the snoftaced blond dude was up there, pecking away at a computer. Dude looked like someone straight out of a fucking fashion magazine, with that pouty shit he had going on and his funky white sleeveless fur hoodie.

Dean walked straight up to stand across the counter from him, frazzled and tired. Over it. He cleared his throat.

Snotface deliberately waited for, like, an extra five seconds before he pulled his gaze away from his computer. His mouth tightened just the same way Regal's had. "Yes?'

"Do me a favor, wouldya?" Dean slapped Roman's credit card on the counter so hard Snotface jumped like the stuffy fucker had. "You see Roman, you give this to him. Tell him I said thanks, but no thanks." The brown-haired guy who'd been here last night wandered up from a back office to stand beside Snotface. Dean ignored him. "Tell Roman the asshole he sent me to get the suits from kicked me outta his shop 'cuz he thought I stole the card. Nice fuckin' guy."

"Tell him yourself." Snotface eyed the cards like they were a pile of crap Dean had dumped in front of him. "I'm not your _maid_. You can't order me around."

"Tyler," the brown-haired guy said witheringly. "Just out of curiosity, where did Mr. Reigns send you?"

Dean curled his lip, scraped the bottom edge of the counter with the toe of his boot. "Regal's."

"Well, William _does_ have good taste," Tyler said. "He knows class when he sees it."

For the third time in an hour, Dean found himself fighting off the urge to punch somebody, knuckles dug into the counter hard enough he was surprised they didn't leave dents in the wood.

Seemed like fucking _everyone_ today wanted to rub his face into the dirt today.

To his surprise, the brown-haired guy shot Tyler an annoyed look. "Stop being rude to Mr. Reigns' friend. We don't want to upset one of our best guests, do we?"

That actually gave Tyler pause. "...no."

"No, we don't." Brown-haired Guy gave Dean a considering look. "What did you need the suits for? What kinds of suits?"

"I dunno, regular ones. For an art gallery thing and a dinner tomorrow. Why?"

Brown-haired guy turned back to Tyler. "Breezy, I think we should help Donald out."

Tyler swiveled around in his chair, eyebrows climbing to meet his hairline. "I thought his name was Dave. Also, ew. That hair is a tragedy. And that jacket… Dango, I don't think he _can_ be helped. Some uggos are just _too_ … Well. You can't make cashmere out of burlap."

"Yeah, screw this," Dean said, pushing away from the counter. It was either that his foot was actually going through the counter this time. "Imma grab my shit and I'm gone."

"Dale, wait," Brown-haired Guy - _Dango? Fuck kinda name is that?_ \- called out in his weird, husky rasp. Dean paused a few steps toward the elevator, head down and his hands in his pockets, but listening. "Think about it, Tyler. I think Mr. Reigns would appreciate it if we helped his friend. We'll keep his business. _And_ if you do a good job, you might be able to talk Mr. Reigns into modeling some of your clothes for your portfolio."

"Ohhhh," Tyler said. "I didn't even think about that. That's a good idea."

"I know. _And_ you love a challenge."

"You know me so well," Tyler said. "All right. Dan? We'll help you."

Dean stood where he was, trying to decide if he really wanted to subject himself to more of this bullshit.

Still wasn't sure it was worth five grand, but on the other hand, five grand and more time with Roman…

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. Finally, he looked over his shoulder. "My name is Dean. Not any of those others. And fine. But let's get somethin' straight, both of you. Just 'cuz I'm not some rich asshole, it doesn't give you a right to treat me like I'm dogshit. If you wanna help me, I'd appreciate it, but not if you're gonna spend the whole time runnin' me down. Clear?"

Tyler waved him off. "Yes, yes, yes, Dane. Just - here. Come with us. Dango, go get Lana and have her watch the desk. I need you."

"I'll do that," 'Dango' said as Dean pawed his face.

 _Dane_.

He followed a very resolute Tyler through a door marked 'Employees Only,' and down a long hall to a door that had a big red-and-white 'Private' sign on it.

And somehow - because this was just how his day was going - Dean ended up standing this long room wearing nothing but his tank top and his underwear. Tyler's orders. Before he disappeared back into the hallway, Tyler _demanded_ Dean strip down, and didn't exactly tell Dean why.

Once he was undressed, Dean looked around the room. It was big. More racks of clothes in it than there'd been at Regal's, but nothing that looked like _suits_. There were a lot of those furry sleeveless hoodies and the tight pants Tyler was wearing. All kinds of colors. Fuzzy boots. Also racks of the tight slacks and colorful dress shirts that Dango guy had been wearing. Behind where Dean stood was three tall mirrors arranged to offer three different angles of whoever stood in front of them.

Without even having to turn, Dean could see the gross yellowing end of a big bruise on the back of his thigh.

Came courtesy of the same prick who'd given him the shiner - this big slob of a dude who'd staggered by Dean's usual work spot and had picked a fight. Not unusual for the area. And while he had probably sixty pounds on Dean, Dean had been sober and not afraid to hit back. The slob got a few good licks in, but Dean busted out two of the asshole's teeth and kicked him in the nuts so hard it dropped him into the gutter.

Dirty fighting, but on the street, it wasn't about following approved rules.

You fought to win or else you'd get fucked.

Tyler made his way back into the room with a long measuring tape in hand, and Dean found himself instinctively folding his hands together over his junk. He felt just a little exposed, standing around in his underwear like this.

Which drew a smirk and a huff out of Tyler. "Oh, please. You don't have anything I haven't seen before."

Dean didn't move his hands. "What are we doing?"

"Getting your measurements," Tyler said, gaze drifting down.

"Um." Dean cleared his throat, shifted. "What?"

"Not _that_ , Dan," Tyler said, and for once it sounded more amused than annoyed. He actually looked like he was trying not to laugh. "I'm not a pervert. I want to measure your waist, your inseam, your arms, and your neck. I need to know your sizes so we can make sure your suit fits right. It has to fit right or it won't matter how well-cut the material is. You'll look terrible."

"Oh," Dean said, relieved.

"Dango," Tyler called over his shoulder. "We're ready for you."

"His name is Dango?" Dean asked.

"It's Johnny Curtis, actually," the man himself answered as he stepped into the room. "Everyone calls me Fandango."

Dean caught Fandango's gaze. "Why's that?"

Fandango shimmied his hips. "Because I dance."

"Competitively," Tyler put in. "He's won many competitions."

"I see," Dean said, while Fandango preened under the praise.

Today had officially jumped off the rails of anything he might have expected.

It didn't get any better with Tyler directing him to hold his arms out. He and Fandango stood behind, and Dean was pretty sure they were staring at his ass.

Until he heard Tyler make that strange noise again. "God, Dango, I would _kill_ for a body line like this. Do you see his _waist_? It's practically nonexistent."

Dean looked down at his stomach. "Is that a good thing?"

"It's _classic_ ," Tyler informed him, critical gaze sweeping Dean top to bottom. "Your shoulders are wide and your waist is narrow. It makes a vee. You'll be very easy to dress. Most suits are cut for your shape, which means we'll be accentuating rather than hiding. Now hold your arms back up and hush. I need to concentrate."

It didn't take Tyler long to do his measuring, at least, although Dean found himself staring up at the ceiling with grit teeth when Tyler crouched down to measure the inside of one leg. Tyler's top hand drifted way too close to Dean's nuts for comfort, and lingered there way too long. There was no contact, at least, but Dean couldn't help but be relieved once Tyler stood back up and took a measurement around his hips.

Fandango, leaning casually against the door, jotted everything down. He had this odd little smile the whole time, his focus entirely on Tyler.

Once he was finished, Tyler dusted off his hands and said, "You can get dressed and leave, Dane. We're done. Wait up in Mr. Reigns' room. It'll be a few hours, but we'll come up when we're ready. We'll bring Mr. Reigns' credit card back to you then."

"Okay," Dean said, reaching for his jeans. "Um. Thanks. But it's Dean."

"Right," Tyler said on his way out the door.

Alone in a room full of the wildest clothes he'd ever seen, Dean could only shake his head.

_What the hell am I even doing?_

* * *

Three hours later, he swam awake at an insistent pounding on the suite's door.

Groggy and half-asleep, he stumbled off the couch and went to answer it.

Outside stood three people: Fandango, the valet dude with wild hair from last night, and Tyler.

Tyler had a luggage cart full of suits, ranging in color from black to fucking _purple_.

"All right," Tyler said, as Fandango helped him wheel the luggage cart into the room. "Dane, Alonzo here is going to cut your hair while Dango and I get set up."

"Enzo," the wild-haired guy told Dean. "It's Enzo. You?"

Dean moved a little further into the suite's living room. "Dean."

"Howyadoin'." Enzo stood back and squinted up at Dean's head. "So how do you feel about tiger stripes?"

"I - what?"

"No no no!" Tyler called over. He and Fandango had the cart over near the bar. "No tiger stripes."

"Oh come on!" Enzo protested. "I'm seeing orange with black stripes carved into the sides of his hair. It'd look awesome."

"...what?" Dean asked again. He had no idea what was even going on.

"No," Tyler echoed. "That would clash _horribly_ with these fabrics. We don't have time for that right now anyway." But he turned to look at Dean, too. "Maybe tomorrow, though. Just a trim for today, Alonzo. Chop chop. Let's see what we can do with our little lump of coal here."

"Hey!" Dean spluttered. He was pretty sure he'd just been insulted. "Come on, I'm not _that_ bad."

But nobody listened.

Enzo produced a set of clippers, grinned, and said, "Let's do this! Oh, and hey, let me try out a few rhymes on you. Me and a buddy of mine are workin' on a track. Tryin' to nail down some good lyrics."

Dean just sort of blinked at him, lost again. "Okay?"

There really wasn't much to do after that but give into the absurdity of it all.

* * *

It wasn't a bad day. It wasn't a good day.

It was just _a_ day.

And Seth was completely obnoxious.

When Roman made it to the conference room for the day's first meeting with the Cesaros, Seth had taken one look at him and burst out laughing. He had a laugh that grated on Roman's nerves like nails on a chalkboard, braying and nasal.

"Somebody got laid last night," he'd guffawed, much to Roman's mortification. Seth could always tell. "I'm surprised Cody agreed to _come_. See what I did there? 'Cuz he came, and then he _came_?"

Roman had rolled his eyes and swiveled to look out of one of the room's many huge windows. "You know, it loses the humor when you explain it. Cody broke up with me last night. I'm not around enough for him, apparently. So that's that. Eight months down the drain."

"I mean…" Seth'd cleared his throat. "You did have a bad habit of leaving and not telling him. I don't think you were as into him as you wanted to be."

"No, I wasn't." It was easy to admit that now.

"Sorry, Rome. But, hey, you did get laid. Who was it? And don't tell me it didn't happen. I can practically smell it on you. Did you call Finn? Tell me you called Finn."

"I didn't call Finn." Roman had squinted at a helicopter buzzing high over the interstate, thinking. How the hell would he explain this? "I stopped by The Oak Barrel before I went back to my hotel. Wanted one last one for the night. Because of Cody. I met a guy there. Ended up spending the night together."

"You had a _hook-up_?" Seth'd sounded incredulous. "Since when do you do those? Do you do those? I do those. I did one last ni- well, I mean, technically it was _two_. I hooked up twice last night. Just, you know, at the same-"

"Don't tell me these things, Seth. I love you like a brother, but if it gets out you've been straying, I'm taking Nikki's side. I might not like her family that much, but she absolutely deserves better."

"She won't find out. How's she gonna find out? You won't tell. I won't do it once we're married, trust me. Don't duck the question. Since when do you do hook-ups? And who was he?"

"You'll meet him at dinner tomorrow," was all Roman had said. Any spare moment they had, Seth kept pestering him, but Roman held firm. He needed a chance to sit down with Dean and figure out a plausible cover story. People were likely to be curious about the new man on Roman's arm, and telling them Dean was a prostitute was out of the question.

He didn't have a whole lot of time to dwell on it, occupied as he was all day with their detailed inspection of the Cesaros' books that morning and a tour of the facility. Antonio again seemed just eager as could be to make a good impression, explaining with real passion his ideas for turning the company around and making it profitable. A few of those ideas had actual merit (including one about diversifying their manufacturing to include military tech), Roman had to admit.

He admired Antonio's zeal; it'd been a long time since he'd felt anything like passion for _his_ job. These days, it was just about making the conquest as fast as he could, and then moving on to the next one. No guilt or remorse, even when he knew a dedicated and smart guy like Antonio would invariably find his hopes crushed. He couldn't afford to let himself feel anything about it because otherwise the guilt would eat him alive.

Here Antonio was pouring his heart and soul into saving his grandfather's company, and it wouldn't amount to anything. When and if this sale happened, the company would be closed and all its assets sold off within eighteen months. There was no getting around that.

Business was business.

You couldn't afford to bring personal feelings into it.

Roman spent his afternoon touring a second company his father was considering purchasing: an upstart social networking platform, one that was trying to present itself as as a "less evil" cross between Facebook and Tumblr. At present, the company was valued in the mid-thirty millions, but the reports Roman had seen estimated the company could balloon in value to the low hundred millions inside six months.

From what he saw of the company when he sat in their dingy office building with their just-out-of-college CEO and their haphazard server room, Roman wasn't convinced.

"I don't think this is a good move," he told his old man over the phone later that afternoon. He driving back to the hotel, trying to navigate his car through sticky rush-hour traffic. "Unless you're looking for a tax write-off. Whoever did that analysis must not have actually bothered to walk through their facility. They have a bucket in their server room because their roof leaks."

"Hmm," his old man mused. "That doesn't sound promising."

In his mind's eye, Roman could see his old man - huge, burly dude with salt-and-pepper hair and a matching goatee - parked behind his massive desk back in Florida. Probably leaned back in his chair with his feet kicked up on the desk. He had an open, airy kind of office, decorated with paintings of beaches and shells, art he'd bought from Samoan artists on his last trip back, and all kinds of trinkets and treasures that made it wildly different from most of the sterile professional offices Roman conducted business in.

His old man was just as shrewd and calculating as any executive Roman worked with, just as demanding. The suits he wore were every bit as expensive and high-end as anyone else's, too. He just preferred to keep reminders of the family's roots and their heritage close to him so he didn't stray too far into the world of clinical board meetings and cold corporate climates.

He left that to Roman.

"No, it doesn't," Roman said. "I don't think this one is worth our while."

"All right," his dad said. "Then we won't waste our time. All right. Wrap it up with the Cesaros as fast as you can, and then get your butt down here. Your mother is threatening murder if I send you anywhere else before she has a chance to see you. You haven't been home since Christmas."

It was late July. "Will do, Dad. I think we're getting close, anyway. I just need to be careful here. Grandson thinks we're buying the company to fix it. I don't want a lawsuit on our hands when he realizes we only bought them to dismantle everything and sell it off."

"Make sure Seth is getting recordings of the proceedings, then. I'll start drafting an eighteen-month plan." There was a pause, and, "Word is going around Cody broke it off with you."

Roman strangled the steering wheel. He'd hoped he'd have a few days' peace before that got out. "Yeah."

"What did you do?"

"Why do you assume it's my fault?"

"Because I know you, and I know you take relationships for granted. How many times have I told you it's not about what you buy them? It's about you being there for them. Letting them know you care instead of expecting them to come running when you snap your fingers."

"I don't…" Oh. He kind of had. "You're the one who sends me all over the country, Dad. It's hard to be there for anyone when I'm always on the road. Besides which, I don't think Cody was right for me. He was too… He was kind of a brat, and I got a little tired of his attitude."

He eased the car to a stop in a parking spot outside of a jewelry store, a display of watches catching his eye.

"You never think they're right for you," his dad said severely. "Always some excuse. In this day and age of Skype and FaceTime, there's no reason you couldn't be there for them in other ways. Family is important, too. You're old enough you should be seriously thinking about marriage and adoption."

"Easy for you to say that, Dad," Roman groused. "I'm away from home two or three weeks a month. Even with Skype and FaceTime, it's not easy."

"More excuses. We'll talk when you come home next week. What are you doing for an escort? I see you didn't call Finn."

"Why would I?" Roman asked defensively. Everybody and their dog was trying to set him up with Finn Balor, eldest son of one of Reigns International's Board of Directors. A teacher and a volunteer at a troubled youth program, Finn was a nice guy and very good-looking, but he and Roman had no spark together. Roman saw  _older brother_ in Finn more than _romantic interest_.

But because Finn was gay, everybody kept trying to push him and Roman together.

"Don't worry about an escort, Dad. I already got that figured out. And I gotta go," he added before his old man could press for details. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He hung up without waiting for an answer, a move that was going to get him an ass-chewing tomorrow, but for right now, there was a watch in the window of this jewelry store he wanted to check out.

His dad's disapproval could wait another day.

Dean needed a nice accessory to go along with the suits, something simple but enough to help him look the part. The one that caught his eye had a stainless steel bezel and a black leather band. It wasn't big or showy, but Dean didn't really need anything like that. The way he'd had his backpack full of supplies _just in case_ , he seemed more practical - someone who valued function over form.

The Seiko in the window would be perfect.

He couldn't wait to get back to the hotel and put the day behind him.


	4. Night Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art 'n stuff.

" **New Tricks"  
**_IV. Night Two_

His purchase tucked into his jacket's pocket, he climbed back into his car and drove the last two blocks to the hotel. It was just about six, which meant he had about a half-hour to freshen up before he and Dean needed to be on their way.

Shame they didn't have longer.

Some nice, slow sex would go down real well right about now, and, man, he was looking forward to seeing what William Regal managed to pull together for Dean for tonight. The old man was great with pulling together the right looks for pretty much any occasion, and this should have been no exception.

Enzo stood at his usual post at the hotel's valet area when Roman pulled up, bopping along to whatever music he had playing in his headphones.

Most of the higher-end hotels where Roman stayed tended to frown on that kind of behavior, preferring a degree of professionalism that Roman found stifling. His old man wasn't a fan of it, but Roman found it as refreshing as he found the bold flower displays in the lobby. Splashes of color in a world that sometimes felt too monochrome for his liking.

He climbed out of his car as Enzo made his way around. "Hey-hey, Mr. Reigns! How's things?"

"Good," Roman said. He slipped Enzo a tip and moved aside. "Just park it. I'll be leaving again in half an hour."

"You got it. Oh, hey, Mr. Reigns? You're a guy with good taste. Can I run somethin' by you real quick?"

Roman glanced at his watch. "Sure, but make it quick."

"Won't take a second," Enzo said. "How do these lyrics sound? 'Old man jorts cuttin' wack rhymes/soundin like a teenage boy spittin weak lines/manufactured shit you say with no art/what ever happened to speaking from ya heart?' I ain't got the rest yet, but whaddya think?"

"Um." Roman glanced off the doors, considering. Obviously they were lryics of some kind. "That's pretty good." He guessed. "What is it?"

"It's for a diss track," Enzo said. "Me and Big Cass - that's my partner in crime - we're goin' after that fake-ass Fruity Pebbles rice puff John Cena. He's tryin' front like he's a real hard-ass G lately, but, man, he's about as real as every pair of every pair of boobies on the _Baywatch_ set. All that corny 'PG-rapping' for the kiddos. Know what I mean?"

The answer to that question was a resounding _no_. Roman had no idea what Enzo was talking about. But sometimes it was best to just humor him. "Sure," he lied. "That's cool. Good luck? Listen I gotta get running. I'll see you here shortly."

He headed into the lobby, blowing past Becky at the front desk without much more than a cursory wave, anticipation hurrying him along to the elevator.

The entire ride up, he kicked his foot against the elevator's wall, eager and impatient.

Like a kid waiting for it to be time to open a birthday present.

It took him two tries to get his keycard into the slot, and it felt an hour before the lock disengaged.

Right away, the second he stepped inside, he saw Dean, and he just froze.

It was like the world just fell away for a second, all the stress and cares flying right out of Roman's head as he took in the sight in front of him.

_Oh._

Dean stood over by the big windows, leaned casually sideways against one, attention out on the bay.

Clean-shaven, hair trimmed and slicked back, and wearing a sharp-as-hell black suit with a tie and a pocket square about the same blue as his eyes, he looked like a completely different man. He could have been a picture out of a fashion magazine.

The change was just...

"...wow," Roman managed when Dean finally looked over. "You look… _wow_."

"Yeah?" Dean straightened, looked down at himself self-consciously. "You like it?"

"I really, really do," Roman said. He felt just a little dazed as he made his way over, almost like he was floating. It was strange. "Man, William outdid himself. You look amazing. Nice haircut, too. It looks good on you." Still some length, but neatened up at the back and sides.

"Thanks." Dean ducked his head, but not before Roman caught sight of a shy smile. "I mean, it was Tyler and Fandango who did all this, to tell you the truth. Mostly Tyler. Guy's a pain in the ass, but he does good work."

Roman frowned. "You didn't go to Regal's?"

There was a beat of hesitation before Dean said, "I tried, but the guy there was a complete asshole to me. First he told me to go to a discount store. Then when I told him you sent me, he basically called me a liar and said I probably stole your card. Since I didn't have your number to call you, he threatened to call the cops. He kicked me out. I... I almost said 'fuck it' and went home, but then Fandango and Tyler offered to help, so..."

As he listened, Roman's disbelief gave away - _William wouldn't do that, would he?_ \- to cold anger. His fists clenched so tightly at his sides it felt like his skin was going to split open. "Are you _kidding_ me?" he said through his teeth. "He has my number. Why in the hell didn't _he_ call me?"

"'Cuz I think he just wanted me to leave." Dean shrugged. "Like I was just some trash who stole your credit card and decided to come bother him. I dunno. Doesn't matter. It worked out okay. Tyler got me hooked up with what I need for the week Oh, and your credit card is on the bar there."

It _did_ matter.

It was good to hear that Tyler had redeemed himself for last night's 'homeless' comment, but hearing that William Regal, a man Roman had done business with for ten years, had treated Dean badly, that didn't sit right - at all. Hell, Roman himself had been guilty of the same classist bullshit at first, too, and it kind of made him burn with even more embarrassment that it kept happening to the poor guy.

He reached out with a couple fingers and tipped Dean's chin up. "It matters. It does. That shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry about that. I should have left you my number just in case. That was my bad. Even so, he should have called me." He dismissed that for now in favor of giving Dean a long once-over. "Tyler did a really good job here. I'm impressed."

"Don't be surprised if he tries to hit you up to model some of his clothes for pictures or something," Dean said. "I think that was part of the reason he did this. They said something about a portfolio or something."

That was a new one. Usually people just hit him up for money. "I'll keep that in mind," Roman said. "In the meantime, how was your day?"

"The whole morning pretty much sucked, but this afternoon was fine," Dean said. "Regal was a dick, but I got the suits. You're here. Kinda gotten better as it's gone along." His smile resurfaced, then, enough to bring out his dimples. "How was yours?"

"Unproductive," Roman admitted. He liked that smile a lot. "I still don't feel like we're any closer to closing this deal for the Cesaros' company. I spent my morning going over their books line-by-line. Talk about mind-numbing. I wasted my afternoon scouting a badly-run social media company. I was busy, but it was the worst kind." He smiled himself and brushed Dean's cheek. It felt a little warm. "Looking up, though. Let me go get ready."

"Sure thing," Dean said, returning his attention to the bay again.

* * *

On their way out to the car, Becky looked up from where she was typing and said, "Now _that's_ a handsome couple. Have a nice time tonight, gentlemen."

Roman just waved again, but Dean shot her a quick smile. "Good luck at your gig, Becky. Kick ass."

"We will, Dane," Becky said with a grin of her own.

"Dean," Roman corrected her.

Dean waved him off. "It's an inside joke, Roman. Don't worry about it."

Outside, Enzo greeted Dean with an enthusiastic, "Heeeey! Dan! Lookin' sharp, man. Lookin' sharp. You too, Mr. Reigns."

"Thanks, Enzo," Dean said as Roman headed around to the driver's side of his car. "Hey, thought of something else: I heard once that a committee of boardroom execs write all of Cena's lyrics. You could rhyme that with something like spirits or something. How they got no heart or spirit? Something like that. I know we were kind of talking about how weak his rhymes were or whatever, but I think the boardroom thing is probably better."

Enzo's eyes lit up. "Oh, man, that's _sweet_! Thanks, man!"

"Dean, we gotta go," Roman called over a little sharply. He didn't know why he was so annoyed all of a sudden. "We're gonna be late."

"Have a nice night, Mr. Reigns!" Enzo called. "You too, Don."

"See ya, Alonzo." Dean climbed into the car and tugged his seatbelt on, chuckling to himself.

Roman waited until he'd merged onto the Interstate to remark, "Looks like you've made some friends today. Although his name is Enzo. Mind letting me in on the joke? Why were they calling you Dane and Don?"

"Huh? Oh." Dean waved him off. "Tyler. All day, he kept calling me Dane, Dan, and Don. He called Enzo Alonzo. Becky told me that's a thing he does when he's concentrating on his work. Scatterbrained. He calls her Katie and Patsy sometimes. Enzo cut my hair today and Tyler had me model for Becky. They were around to see it."

Roman's hands relaxed on the wheel. "Ah," he said, snorting. "I've heard him do that. Never to me, but I heard him call Becky Kathy once. Different cat, that guy. What was that about Becky and a gig?"

"Oh, her band is playing later tonight night. Some record execs might be there."

"She has a band?" She'd been working at the hotel for at least the last two years, as far as Roman knew, and he couldn't recall her mentioning it. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, she was telling me today it's this pop-punk band she and three friends from college have. She's the drummer, and I guess she and the lead singer write all their music. The Four Horsewomen. I've never heard of them, but if they've got record execs coming, they must be pretty decent. Might go check 'em out one day."

"That's cool."

"Yeah. So. Anyway, art, huh?"

Something in his tone made Roman look over. "Don't be nervous. You'll be fine. You look great and all we're really going there to sip some champagne and eat a few hors d'oeuvres, look at this kid's artwork, pat him on the back, shake a few hands, and leave. A couple hours tops, and then I'll be taking you back to the hotel and unwrapping all this nice packaging you're wrapped up in."

"I just hope nobody asks for my opinion about anything," Dean muttered. "I don't know shit about art."

"I really don't, either. I'm not an art kinda guy, but the trick to it is don't ever say you don't get it. Even if you don't get it, just say it's interesting or you like the style. If anybody asks. Nobody usually does. Most people are usually too busy talking."

"Okay, cool," Dean said, blowing out a sigh. "So, ya like any other sports?"

For rest of the drive, they talked baseball and football. Roman was not shocked to learn that Dean was a diehard Reds fan, being from Cincinnati. Roman admitted he was a fan of the New York Yankees.

"My dad hates that," Roman laughed. "He's Miami all the way - for football and baseball. I did it just to piss him off."

Dean eyed him sideways. "Did you? You guys don't get along, or what?"

"We get along fine where business is concerned," Roman said, "but outside of that we don't always see eye-to-eye. He doesn't exactly approve of how I run my life, especially when it comes to family and relationships, but half the time I'm out working in places he told me to go, so it's like, 'I don't know what to tell ya, Dad. This is the job you gave me.' It is what it is."

"It's your life," Dean said. "You ain't exactly a kid."

"I still have responsibility to my family, but, yeah. It pretty much is my life." _Such as it is_.

He steered the conversation back to the much safer ground of sports and left if there, explaining how he'd gotten into fantasy football recently and how the company had decided to sponsor a couple arena league teams. They'd both played football in school, it turned out, with Dean briefly playing nose tackle in middle school and Roman playing defense all the way through college.

This kind of easy talk, Roman found, was just right.

Like pro wrestling, he could talk sports all night. Dean was just as into them, for the most part, and got enthusiastic to the point he was talking with his hands.

A nice, low-pressure way to get to know each other a little better without all that awkward personal talk.

Not that Roman wouldn't have _minded_ learning more about where Dean came from and how he ended up the way he did, but now wasn't really the time.

Turned out to be even easier to find the art gallery than he thought. It was stark, modern little sandstone building in the middle of a line of them not all that far from where he exited the Interstate. A huge black sign with slashed-up silver writing proclaimed it Studio X.

Unusual for the city, there was plenty of parking around. Roman smoothly parallel parked his Mercedes between a BMW and an Audi while Dean straightened his clothes.

At five 'til seven in July, the sun was still up. A lot of people were still out and about, shoppers ducking into and out of all the little shops that lined both sides of the block. Most Roman could see as he and Dean made their way up to the gallery were chain clothing and book stores. Starbucks down at one end of the block. A restaurant at the other end. Kind of bland in the way that middle-class neighborhoods tended to be, but not a bad place at all

Dean seemed pretty relaxed, Roman found, that calm poker face back.

Tyler had done a hell of a good job on the suit, Roman thought again, noting the way it really highlighted the lean lines of Dean's body, the way it highlighted the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. Couldn't see his ass, but it probably looked great, too.

Roman had to fight the temptation to reach over and grab Dean's hand.

Old habit: Cody always insisted because he wanted it _known_ he was Roman's boyfriend. Roman got used to walking down sidewalks hand-in-hand, and now he found he kind of missed that.

But it wouldn't have been appropriate, not after just a day of them knowing each other.

The inside of Studio X, they found once they stepped in, was pretty plain. The main showroom looked exactly like a museum, with plain white walls, hardwood floors, and intense spotlighting beaming down on the collection - most of which was done in dark colors.

It was bigger than it looked inside; about forty well-dressed people stood around chatting in the middle of the room, and it didn't seem all that crowded.

He spotted Michael Cole, the Reigns International executive whose relative - niece or nephew, Roman wasn't sure suddenly - owned the gallery, off to one side and led Dean over that way.

Michael Cole, a small reedy man who actually thought he looked cool with a graying soul patch, saw Roman and Dean, and walked over to join them. There was a dark-haired young lady with him, pale and wearing a black leather jacket over a black shirt, along with a black skirt and boots.

"Roman," Michael said, extending a hand. "Hello. You made it. Thanks for coming."

"My pleasure," Roman said.

"This is my niece Paige," Michael said. "It's her gallery. Paige, this is Roman Reigns."

Roman extended a hand to Paige, who shook it. "Mr. Reigns."

"Roman is fine," Roman said. "Mr. Reigns is my father. Oh, and this-" he indicated Dean, who edged forward "-is Dean. My date."

Dean extended a polite hand first to Paige, and then to Michael. "Nice to meet you."

"Well, gentlemen," Michael said, "we'll be starting here shortly. We're still waiting on a few people. There's champagne and hors d'oeuvres over by the wall there. Oh, but Roman, I do have some business I need to discuss with you when have a moment. But it can wait."

"Feel free to have a look around while you're at it," Paige added dryly. "At the art."

"Of course," Roman said smoothly.

Which they did, after a quick stop-off for a couple glasses of champagne and some small plates of crab beignets, little lettuce cups filled with steak, stuffed mushrooms and tomatoes, and crostini. Roman hadn't actually eaten since lunch, and while the food wasn't enough to actually quench his hunger, it took the edge off enough that he was at least confident his stomach wouldn't rumble while they were here.

To his surprise, Dean seemed really keen to go check out the paintings and sculptures that lined the walls. Others had the same idea, so they kind of had to navigate around a handful of couples who'd all stopped to chat by whatever paintings had caught their eye.

What Roman took away from it was _dark_.

There was a painting that looked like a faceless drug addict had sliced herself open to inject a syringe into her heart, her spoon and lighter discarded beside her. Another of someone who looked homeless reaching out to a passerby, and being ignored. One that looked like a joker with a bloody knife clenched between his teeth and the reflection of a ruined city in his eye.

Lots of dark colors: blacks, smoky grays, dark reds. They felt almost oppressive with them, heavy and gloomy. Definitely not Roman's thing.

He liked the seascapes and shell paintings that his old man had at home. Peaceful things.

Dean, on the other hand, examined each painting with keen interest, a look of concentration on his face that Roman found far more interesting to study than what was on the walls. When he took in each work, Dean appeared to go into his own head, eyes roving over the the entire thing from corner to corner like he was trying to memorize every detail.

What he was thinking Roman would have given half his fortune to know; he didn't ask, though, because he liked having these few uninterrupted moments to admire his date.

Eventually, Michael called everyone back to the front of the gallery.

Paige thanked everyone for coming, and proceeded to explain in her quiet British accent that the concept behind the collection was _The Darkness and the Dawn_. She wanted to showcase the ugly and the hope. Struggles. She admitted they were based on her own personal struggles with substances and depression. They were how she found her way to a healthier frame of mind.

"They're all for sale," she concluded, "if anyone's interested. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. Otherwise, thank you for coming and enjoy."

With that, everyone dispersed again.

Roman immediately had three people he recognized as junior executives approach him to shake his hand.

They, of course, wanted to ask him some questions.

"You can go look around more if you want," Roman told Dean. "I need to talk some business."

Dean had probably probably waiting for that, because he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

While everyone else looked around the gallery, Roman stood over near the hors d'oeuvres table explaining his father's rationale for a new policy about what types of companies they would target for purchase. Only one of the executives seemed like a kiss-ass who just wanted to compliment Roman on the company's"brilliance". The other two had legitimate questions and concerns about the decision to exclude certain types of businesses from their portfolio.

Those were the same concerns Michael Cole had, because he eventually found his way over to join the conversation. Plus, he wanted to hear about the latest rumors that one of their rivals - Hunter Helmsley - had successfully managed to undercut a couple of big sales recently.

This always happened whenever he went to events where people from the company were present. Instead of actually getting to go out and, say, check out the rest of the art, he had to stand there with people he barely know and let them yammer at him so they felt like they were being heard. And it wasn't that he didn't want to hear what they had to say, exactly, but most of the time it was just tiresome, always having to stand on the sidelines and talk while activities were happening around him.

Sometimes he didn't mind because he preferred talking to forcing himself into participating in something he didn't enjoy just to appease junior employees.

Other times, he felt like pointing out to everyone that they could go home and shut the business side of their brains off. He didn't really have that luxury because everywhere he turned, people wanted to talk at him.

Like now.

An hour and a glass-and-a-half of champagne later, Roman tuned out Michael's conspiracy theory about the McMahon-Helmsleys and looked around for Dean. The crowd had thinned down by a lot, some people having purchased paintings and left, others just leaving. Made it easy to spot Dean.

He was over by one of the glass sculptures with Paige, her arm linked through his, and the two of them laughing easily at something she'd pointed out. They looked like they were having a pretty good time together, Paige turning them away and leading Dean to another sculpture. She was very animated, and there was a sparkle in Dean's eye.

Roman was more than man enough to admit it made him jealous.

Not so much out of worry they were flirting, but that someone else had Dean laughing.

That Dean was _his_ date, but that they'd spent maybe ten minutes all-told together.

He set down his empty champagne glass on the tray, and the abruptness of it cut Michael off mid-stream. "As fascinating as this all is, Michael," he said, "I'd like to actually have a chance to see the gallery tonight. While it's true we _do_ have a problem with the McMahon-Helmsleys right now, and while it's true they've stolen a few sales from us, I can assure you my father is implementing a plan that will clamp down on any potential insider leaks. If there _is_ an insider selling out our plans, we'll root them out. Now, if you'll excuse me, folks, I'd like to get back to my date."

"Of course, of course," Michael said. "I'll just email you the rest of my ideas."

"You do that." Roman quickly shook hands again with everyone and walked away.

"-old woman who kept walking down the street in her bra," Paige was saying when Roman approached the sculpture she and Dean were standing near, "and her husband always chased her in just his trousers. It was ridiculous."

"Oh my God," Dean laughed. "I bet it was."

"It hap - oh, hell-o," Paige said to Roman. "I'm sorry. I think I'm monopolizing your date."

"Not at all," Roman said, flashing Dean a quick smile. "You two look like you're having a good time. Mind if I join you?"

Paige linked her other arm though Roman's. "I was just telling Dean the story behind this piece."

"I caught the part about the old woman in the bra," Roman said, squinting down at what he realized was, in fact, an old man chasing an old woman in a bra. The old woman had a big smile on her face, while the old man looked fond or something.

"Some neighbors of mine," Paige told him. "The old woman actually had Alzheimer's, but she always looked like she was having the time of her life. I think she thought she was going to the beach. It's sad, but it's also funny."

She led them around some more, and pointed out various things in the sculptures and in the paintings, apparently happy to have a captive audience. Dean, engaged and obviously enjoying himself, did most of the talking with her, asking about how certain paintings came to be and asking about certain details he'd noticed. For somebody who claimed not to know much about art, Dean certainly found a lot to talk about. Every so often, he caught Roman's eye and smiled or asked what he thought.

Roman usually just smiled back, content to stroll along and take everything in.

It was relaxing in a way events he _had_ to attend like this seldom were.

One of the last paintings Paige took them by was a peaceful-looking scene of someone on a rooftop watching the sun rise over a city. In contrast to the rest of the collection, which was mostly dark, this one was lighter. A little more color in it. It seemed simple at first glance, but with a closer look, he made out a lot of little details like a few just-visible shapes of people in apartments and birds on the horizon..

"You like this one," Dean said, coming to stand beside him. It wasn't a question.

"I do," Roman admitted. "It's really - it reminds me of New York. Before the city gets bustling."

"This is the most recent one I've done," Paige said from his other side. "It's different than my usual work, but it's - I like working in this style. Not to pressure you or anything, but I'm just going to put it out there that it's for sale if you want to buy it."

Roman glanced at the price tag on the wall. Compared to a lot of the art people tried to sell him, Paige's piece here was reasonable. And he could think of a couple places to hang it. "I think we can do business."

They did, retreating to a room behind the gallery to talk matting, price, and shipping. It was a quick, painless transaction, Roman handing over a check and his the details for where she should ship it. After she took the check and printed off a bill of sale, Paige opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out probably a dozen glossy prints, all the size of a sheet of paper, and slipped them into a plastic page protector with a business card.

The receipt she handed to Roman.

The prints she handed to Dean. "You might like these. If you ever do want something for yourself, you know where I am. You can call or I've got a website, too. You can just get the prints, too. Those are a lot less expensive than the originals."

"Thank you," Dean said, glancing down at the sleeve. He smiled again. "I'll keep that in mind."

"That goes for you, too, Roman," Paige told him. "If anything else catches your eye, let me know."

Roman nodded. "Thank you. It was nice to meet you, Paige, but I think Dean and I need to head out." He needed to get Dean back to the hotel in the worst way. That damn smile.

"In that case, boys," Paige said diplomatically, "it was nice to meet you, too. If you'd rather not risk Uncle Michael hounding you, I'd suggest you go out the back door."

"Appreciate that," Roman said dryly.

The back door took them out behind the building, into a poorly-lit parking lot. Night had fallen, the last of the twilight fading into the dark. The moon overhead was full, though, and illuminated everything with a pale glow.

Roman led the way around to the sidewalk and toward the car, silent and thoughtful.

Dean walked beside him, equally lost in thought, his prints tucked under one arm.

It was a much quieter neighborhood than they'd found it hours ago.

Eventually, as they neared the car, Roman glanced over. "All that worry for nothing, huh?"

"Yeah." Dean ducked his head. "Guess so."

"You're not as bad with people as you said you were."

"I only talked to like you and Paige."

"Paige was the most important person you _could_ have talked to, though," Roman pointed out. "It was her gallery. Looked like she was enjoying talking to you. I bet you anything she's gonna rave to her uncle about what a good night it was, and that's what matters. If she's happy, her uncle is happy. It's a win for everybody - including the company. So, who cares if you ignored everyone else. You did even better than I could hoped. Plus, you enjoyed that, right?"

"Hell yeah I did," Dean said. They approached the Mercedes; he paused by the passenger door and looked at Roman across the roof. "If the rest of the week is like this, it'll be a cakewalk."

"Well." Roman unlocked the car and slid in behind the wheel. He waited to until Dean was in and both had their seatbelts on to continue. "Tomorrow is probably gonna be a little more… It won't be quite this casual. It's important we make a good impression on the Cesaros. I'll want you to try to talk to them like you did Paige. See if you can put them at ease. Ask them about themselves - their family, the company if they want to talk about it. Things like that. But we can talk about that more in the morning. I don't need to leave until eleven, so I thought we'd have a late breakfast and go look for something for you to wear golfing."

And pay a visit to William Regal, he didn't add.

"You're the boss," Dean said easily. He hooked a finger into his tie and tugged it loose. "I _did_ enjoy this. Did you? Seemed like you were talkin' shop or whatever for a long time."

"Always happens," Roman said, easing away from the curb. "But I did, yeah. Nice change of pace."

"Plus you bought a painting."

"Plus I bought a painting."

"Where ya gonna put it?"

"My penthouse, probably."

"That's cool."

Comfortable silence fell between them for the remainder of the ride.

Roman didn't even bother to put on the radio.

For once, he didn't feel the need to say anything.

* * *

Back up in the suite, he waited until the exact moment the door shut to make his move, pushing a startled Dean back against it and diving in to assault his jaw and the side of his neck with biting kisses, sharp and possessive. He wanted to kiss Dean on the mouth like crazy, just plunder him with lips and tongue - so much he was tempted to ask how much more it would cost him - but sucking a trail of hickeys into his skin was the next best thing.

If the way Dean moaned into it was any indication, he didn't mind it a bit.

" _Fuck_ , Roman," and it didn't take much but Roman reaching down to squeeze the front of his slacks for Dean to get hard, dick stiffening up nicely against Roman's palm.

"Like that, huh?" Roman asked right into Dean's ear. The way Dean always shuddered when he did was already becoming one of his favorite things.

One of many.

Dean bucked into Roman's hand. "Fuck yes."

"Gonna be good for me tonight and do what I tell you?" Roman asked, squeezing.

"Yes."

"Good." Roman let go and turned away. "Follow me, then."

He led Dean into the ridiculous master bedroom, which had been cleaned in their absence, fresh white linens on the bed and everything straightened up. While Dean set his prints over by his backpack, Roman slipped his suit coat off and tossed it on the dresser.

"Take your shoes and socks off," Roman said as soon as Dean straightened. "Your coat, too. Leave everything else on and get onto the bed."

Without comment, Dean did what he was told, quickly shedding what Roman told him to shed, and padding barefoot over to the bed. He crawled into the middle, giving Roman a very nice view of his ass, and sat down, eyebrows raised in silent question.

_What next?_

Roman, unbuttoning his cufflinks, smiled, pleased. "Scoot closer to the headboard and lie back. Your head on the pillows."

Again, Dean complied wordlessly, lying down on his back with head propped up and his hands folded over his chest.

Finally, Roman untied and slipped out of his shoes. "Do you like it better when I have my hair up or down?"

"Down," Dean said immediately. "It looks good either way, it's just - it's really hot that way."

"No problem." Roman pulled the tie down and shook his hair out, combing fingers through it to loosen it up. It always felt good when he did.

That done, he climbed onto the bed himself, moving up to straddle Dean's hips. "I'm glad you had fun tonight, Dean." His hands came to rest along Dean's sides, right above his belt. "You looked - you really look great in this suit."

"Thank you," Dean said. "So do you. Better out of it, though."

"We'll get there. For now…" He took hold of both of Dean's wrists and moved them up onto the pillows beside Dean's head. "Leave those there for a second."

A cheeky smile, and, "You're the boss."

"Don't forget it." Roman grabbed Dean's tie and undid the knot, tugging it free from around Dean's neck. With a little smile of his own, he sat forward and looped it over the headboard's upper rail. Then he took Dean's hands, brought them together, and raised them up to the rail. He wrapped the tie around them a few times, and then tied it fairly tight - not so much it was cutting off circulation, but enough Dean couldn't really move.

"If you get uncomfortable," Roman said, sitting back, "you can tell me 'red-light' and I'll let you out. Okay?"

Dean tugged against the tie once. "Gotcha."

"Answer me something, then." Roman set to work teasing Dean's dress shirt open, carefully working the top button open. "Why no kissing?"

"Pretty common rule. Keep something for yourself. Don't give everything away. Save something for when you're not working. So you know the difference between what's work and what's not."

"Ah," Roman murmured. He eased a couple more buttons open and bent down to kiss the skin exposed in the V. "Makes sense."

It did, too; he could see that, wanting to keep a part of you to yourself.

Could even respect it: at the business table, you never gave anything away you didn't absolutely have to.

He took his time easing Dean's shirt out of his pants and unbuttoning it the rest of the way. Once it was open and spread, Roman moved in and got more aggressive again, trailing bigger hickeys from Dean's collarbones down to his navel and back up, marking the skin as _his_.

 _Nobody gets this but me_.

He clamped onto Dean's nipples until Dean tipped his head back on the pillows and his breath started coming in short pants, grunted curses and bitten off moans trapped between each.

Only when he judged Dean ready did Roman sit up and start peeling open Dean's pants.

That was slow, too: first the belt, then the button on the slacks, and then the zipper, tooth by tooth. In between each action, Roman paused to palm Dean's straining erection for a second - enough to give him a little friction. Nowhere near enough, though.

" _Fuck_ ," Dean groaned at one point, hips canting up to try to press into Roman's hand.

Roman moved away. "None of that now. My show."

"You're killin me, man."

After who even knew how many more minutes of that slow torture, Roman finally tugged Dean's pants off, but left the underwear on. Dean made a noise that was all frustration. Roman ignored it in favor of sucking more hickeys into the insides of Dean's thighs.

Satisfied with the lines of red marks, Roman buried his face in the front of Dean's underwear the way Dean had last night, mouthing at the hard line of Dean's cock all the way down to his nuts and back up, enjoying every curse and hitched breath and needy sound that Dean made.

Aware as he did of his own dick throbbing in his pants.

And it was that that finally made him strip Dean's underwear off.

He rolled to his feet, still fully dressed himself, and padded over to Dean's backpack for the lube and condoms.

Dean's eyes were just glazed over as hell again, and Roman couldn't help a smug smile.

_I did that._

Despite his own hard-on clamoring for attention, though, Roman took his time undressing. Deliberately. He slowly pulled off his tie. Unbuttoned his shirt one at a time, ever once breaking eye contact with the tied-up man on the bed.

"Fuhhhhck," Dean muttered. "Hurry up, Roman. I'm kinda dyin' here."

But Roman didn't.

Slowly, just to tease, he eased his shirt all the way open and did the same with his pants. Leaving both on, he rubbed himself over his underwear and pinched a nipple, moaning deep in his throat at how good it felt to get some pressure on his dick.

"Oh, God, fuck you," Dean groaned. His eyes practically rolled back in his head. "Get over here."

Chuckling darkly, smug all over again, Roman slipped his hand inside his underwear and stroked himself. "You want this?" he asked. "What do you say?"

" _Now_ ," Dean growled. "Come on."

"Wrong answer." Roman turned around and pulled his pants off, bending over a little as he did. He ran a hand over his ass and kept tugging at his dick with the other.

"Fine, _please_ ," Dean ground out between his teeth. "Please, Roman."

Roman smiled over one shoulder. "Good answer."

With that, he shed his underwear and made his way back onto the bed.

Dean looked wrecked already, glassy eyes and his body covered with hickeys and his dick leaking onto his stomach. Without even being told, he pulled his knees up to his chest, leaving himself even more exposed and vulnerable than he already had been with just his hands tied.

It was Roman's idea to draw this out and turn it into a long tease, but something about this - about Dean - made it almost impossible for him to actually do that.

He _wanted_.

Bad.

Seemed like hardly ten seconds between the time he started fingering Dean open and the time he was smearing lube onto the condom he'd just rolled on his dick.

He hovered over Dean, though, not entering him just yet. Instead, he looked down into Dean's lust-hazy eyes and asked, "What do you want? Tell me."

"Fuck me," was the mumbled answer. "Please." There was something a little off in his tone, Roman thought, but Dean followed it up with a more natural-sounding, "C'mon, Roman. Get it," that dispelled Roman's doubts.

"Good answer," he said again, leaning back to line his dick up on Dean's stretched-slick hole.

Like every other time before, Dean took him in easy, warm and inviting.

Once he was in, Roman stretched out and lowered himself down so they were chest-to-chest and stomach-to-stomach, his hair falling everywhere. Once Dean nodded it was okay to move, Roman rocked into him, slow and steady. He didn't worry about getting Dean off just yet, instead focusing on just himself and chasing his own pleasure, reveling in the body underneath him. Dean lay flushed and panting, legs wrapped around Roman's lower back, hips canting up to match Roman stroke for stroke.

 _Mine_.

Everything about this felt good, right, the way they moved together.

And he wished he could last longer, but he'd been keyed up for this ever since he saw Dean in that suit, and it wasn't long at all before he felt the heat building, felt himself getting closer.

"C'mon," Dean panted, heels digging into Roman's butt, "that's right. All you got, Roman. All you got. I wanna feel this tomorrow."

Unable to help himself, Roman buried his face in the crook of Dean's shoulder and bore down, rocking faster and deeper until he could feel sweat on the overheated back of his neck, until he was panting, until he was _there_.

A groan muffled into Dean's shoulder, and he was coming, relief chasing the pleasure through his body.

He sagged down onto his elbows, careful not to crush Dean under him, just resting for a few seconds while his heart slowed and he came down from that peak.

"God," he muttered. "So good."

Dean hummed. "Y'gonna, like, let me out so I can-"

"Hush," Roman grunted at him. "Or I'll make you wait longer."

"...okay."

Once he felt a little less rubbery, Roman pushed up to his hands and knees, and eased himself out of Dean's ass. He disposed of the condom in the bedside garbage can, and then sat down between Dean's legs. He pulled them over his knees and ran hands along the insides of Dean's thighs, right over all the hickeys.

Dean wasn't really hard anymore, his dick laying mostly flaccid off to one side.

It didn't take much more than Roman wrapping a hand around it and giving it a few teasing strokes to get it to wake back up. And then, holding Dean's gaze, he bent down to give the head a nice lick.

"Holy shit," Dean gasped. "Roman…"

Roman did it again, and then sat up, smug. "Like that?"

"Fuck yes."

"Want more?"

"Yes." A pause and, " _Please_."

"Good answer." Roman stretched himself out on his belly between Dean's legs, propped up on his elbows with his feet dangling off the end of the bed.

Idly, he wrapped a loose hand around Dean's dick and slicked up and down it a few times, rolling over the head between each. Then he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue all the way up the bottom and ran _it_ across the head. After a couple of those, he closed his lips over the tip and sucked it gently. It'd been a long time since he'd done this, but Dean's little moaned out, "Oh shiiit," told him he hadn't lost his touch.

Roman worked him over with fingers and lips and tongue until Dean was practically writhing on the bed.

Until Dean was out of breath and doing nothing but cursing.

Until he heard, "Fuck, I'm gonna…"

He wrapped a tight hand around Dean's spit-slick cock and finished him off, hard and fast until Dean finally came himself in a croaky, "Fuck, _Roman_ …"

Sounded every bit as wrecked as he looked, all covered in his mess and all the marks Roman left on him, flushed in the face, and his eyes squeezed shut.

Just the best thing.

Hopping off the bed, fatigue starting to set in, Roman padded off the bathroom to clean his sticky dick off and to grab some rags to wipe Dean down with.

He took care of that first, swiping up the mess off of Dean's stomach and carefully wiping down Dean's dick. Only after he'd tossed the rag into the corner did he undo the tie and let Dean's hands free.

Dean just flopped down where he was like a dying starfish, arms and legs splayed out.

Roman stretched out beside him, chuckling when he realized they were both still wearing their shirts.

But Dean didn't seem to care, and if he didn't, Roman didn't either.

In fact, all he really cared about was sleep.

So he pulled the lazy, supple Dean close to him, and he did just that.

 _Not a bad day,_ he thought as he drifted off, warm and content.

 _Not a bad day at all_.


	5. Day Three

" **New Tricks"  
** _V. Day Three_

Pre-dawn, and because they'd gone to bed so early, Dean wasn't all that surprised to find himself swimming awake when the bed shifted beside him. His body was still set to its nocturnal clock anyway, used to being up and moving during these dark hours.

He sat up and stretched, shaking feeling into an arm that long gone numb from sleeping on it.

Roman padded back into the dim room in all his naked glory. Did a groggy double-take on realizing Dean was awake, too. "Sorry," he grunted. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"'S fine," Dean grunted back. "Gotta piss anyway."

He figured Roman would be back asleep by the time he got done taking care of business and rinsing the rancid taste out of his mouth - _fucking champagne_ \- but Roman wasn't even in bed, and the black robe was gone off the closet door hook.

All their clothes were still puddled on the floor. Dean fished his underwear out of his pants and straightened his now-rumpled dress shirt as much as he could.

He spotted Roman out on the balcony, leaning on the rail. He'd pulled his hair back up and was tapping his cell phone on the ledge next to him.

Dean debated whether or not to go out there, but eventually decided to. Some air sounded like a good idea.

Roman glanced around at him as he slipped through the sliding door. "You didn't have to get up."

"I'm usually up this time of night," Dean said. For a suite this size, the balcony was surprisingly small, just a couple of chairs and a little table off to one side. Nothing on the other side, which was where Roman currently stood. Dean made his way over and leaned on the concrete ledge. Quiet waters tonight. "Always my favorite time in the city here. Things finally slow down."

"It's like that in New York, too," Roman said. "Things never stop moving completely, but they don't seem as frantic."

"You like living there?"

"It's all right."

"Not what asked," Dean said, bumping Roman's shoulder. "You like it there?"

"It's not where I'd choose to live, no," Roman said. "But it's where Dad said up corporate headquarters. Closer to the center of the business world there. All of our competition has their offices there, too, which is… It's useful."

"Competition, huh?"

"Other companies that try to sneak sales out from under us," Roman said. "Lately we've had problems with one outbidding on a bunch of companies. Which - that happens from time to time, but the frustrating part about it is it's been on companies we've developed really solid relationships with _and_ companies we put in private bids with. We didn't disclose those publicly. So we do all the work, and this other company swoops in and offers a better bid. My dad texted me to tell that the Hunter Helmsley is sniffing around the Cesaros now, too. These were supposed to be completely private talks between us and the Cesaros, so how the hell Hunter got word I don't know."

Dean frowned out into the bay, unsure what to even say. "I mean… I dunno. Would the Cesaros go behind your back? Get another offer?" That happened on his block sometimes, with dudes trying to cheap out by claiming someone else would blow them for less money.

"I don't think so," Roman said. "Antonio was the one who got the ball rolling with us. He seems like a pretty stand-up guy. The grandfather doesn't even want to sell. I don't think it was them. I hope it wasn't. My old man seems to think - and the rumors agree - we got a leak somewhere in our own company. Somebody's tipping Helmsley off. Problem is, there's a lot of people that could be. My assistant back in New York knows all my plans. So does my secretary. So do my dad's people. So do Seth's people."

"How would you find out?"

"I don't know. To be honest, we can't even prove it _is_ a leak. For all we know, Helmsley has somebody watching where I go and what I do. I wouldn't put it past him."

Dean shifted. "That's not creepy at all. Why the hell would it even matter? Why couldn't this Helmsley guy just go find his own companies to buy? That seems - I dunno. It's kinda weird to me. Sounds a lot more like spy shit."

"Hunter's like that. Trying to show the world he's the biggest dog in the yard. No better way than steal some high-profile sales from one of the biggest names in the game." Roman leaned against Dean a little. "I really don't want to lose another sale to him."

"Maybe talk to the Cesaros, then?" Dean suggested. "Explain what's going on?"

"I could," Roman said thoughtfully. "Might not be a bad idea. I just worry that letting them know someone else is in the game might change the rules. When enough money is involved, loyalty goes right out the window. I don't know. I'll talk it over with my dad later." He cleared his throat, and turned to face Dean a little more. "Tell me something about yourself."

Dean blinked, startled at the abrupt subject change. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything. What was your favorite thing you did as a kid?"

"The time me and Sami - my roommate - went to a flea market and saw our first indy wrestling." Still by far and away one of the best days of his life. "That was cool as hell. Was only like a dozen people watching, but even so, seein' it that close was awesome."

"That what made you want to get into it?"

"Yeah."

"What were you like as a kid? Hell-raiser?"

"Yeah, I was kind of an asshole," Dean admitted. He turned his attention back out to the water again, watching the way the moonlight swayed across it. "Pook kid, bad neighborhood. Gave me a chip on my shoulder. What were you like?"

"Good kid," Roman said to Dean's complete lack of surprise. "I had to be. My dad was strict. I had to work my butt off at everything. Wouldn't hand me anything - except he pretty much had my path laid out for me from the time I was a kid. I've been working for the company in some way since I was about twelve."

"Damn," Dean murmured. "You ever want to do anything else?"

"I think I wanted to be a doctor or something," Roman said. "Help people. I remember being all about that when I was real little. But Dad kept pounding it in my head that I'd follow in his footsteps and join the company. There was never any question. What about you? You ever want to be anything besides a wrestler?"

"Fireman," Dean said. "I remember we used to get a lot of firetrucks and cop cars on the block, and I'd always go out and watch. If your old man had given you a choice, do you think you would have taken the job?"

The pause before Roman answered was pretty telling. "Probably? I'm very good at it."

"Do you like it? Buying all these companies and whatever. You like it?"

"Do you like what _you_ do?" Roman countered. Defensive.

"Yeah, I fuckin' love gettin' my face smashed into walls while dude rail my ass with their little dicks. Totally. And I fucking love getting my head jammed down into some dude's crotch. There's nothin' better than the smell of a dude who's been marinatin' in his own ball sweat all day, let me tell ya." Dean laughed shortly. "I fucking hate it. But I don't ever have to do it again if I don't want to. It's a choice. So there ya go. Do you like your job?"

Again, there was that weird pause. Dean wished there was more light so he could get a read on Roman's expression, but the moonlight was pretty weak and Roman's face was mostly turned away. "I don't hate it. There are things I don't enjoy, but everybody has parts of their jobs they don't like. You just suck it up and do 'em. That's what I do."

"'I don't hate it' ain't the same thing as 'I like it,'" Dean felt compelled to point out.

"I'm very good at my job," Roman said. "That's what matters most to me."

Dean nodded. Still not a yes, but it was clear enough what Roman meant. "Guess me 'n you are different, then. 'Cuz I'm fucking great at what I do, but for me, that doesn't mean shit 'cuz it's not something I really like doing."

"We're not in the same situation," Roman said. "Apples and oranges. I'm basically running a Fortune 100 company. That's not the kind of job people would choose to walk away from - even if they could. You're working for yourself, so you can walk away and find something better if you're not happy where you are."

"But you couldn't, even if you were unhappy."

"I'm good at what do," Roman said quietly. Dean wasn't sure who exactly it was meant for. "Anyway, I'm getting tired. Let's go back to bed. I've got the WWE Network on my iPad. Why don't we find something to watch, huh?"

It really wasn't Dean place to push, he guessed, so he let it go. He didn't want to; there was something in Roman's tone that was just begging to be dug into and picked at, but that was Roman's business. So Dean turned away from the rail. "Sure."

Back in the bedroom, Dean crawled back into bed still in his shirt and underwear while Roman shed his robe and followed suit, a tablet in hand. He fished a TV remote out of his nightstand's drawer and switched on the big wall-mounted flatscreen they could both see from where they lay. "What do you want to watch?"

"Can you watch Pay-Per-Views? 'Cuz I didn't get to see the Royal Rumble from this year."

"Royal Rumble it is," Roman said, tapping on one of the boxes on his iPad's screen. "Hang on. I'm gonna send it through the TV. That way we don't have to try to watch on the iPad here."

A few seconds later, the FBI warning deal appeared on the TV screen. Roman set the iPad down on his nightstand and motioned for Dean to scoot closer. Dean ended up pillowing his head on Roman's chest again, Roman's tattooed arm wrapped around his shoulders.

It didn't mean anything, but it was pretty comfortable.

Comfortable he drifted off, wondering if he and Roman were all that different, after all.

* * *

Daylight found him scooted down between Roman's spread legs, using a lazy tongue and a lazier mouth to give Roman a slow morning blowjob. Roman was all half-lidded eyes and messy bedhead and a sleepy-soft expression on his face Dean did his best not to pay attention to. One of Roman's big hands had found its way to the top of Dean's head and was just resting there, fingers carded through Dean's hair.

It was quiet save Roman's occasional appreciative murmur and the one contented hum Dean couldn't quite suppress when he felt Roman's fingertips lightly massaging his scalp.

Dudes shoving his face down into their crotches or wanting him to beg for them made him itch to kick them away, but somebody just massaging his scalp? That made him want to purr like a fucking cat.

Who knew?

Last night had been good - _great_ , even - but this, being the one getting Roman all hot and bothered, this was more his speed.

He brought Roman off nice and slow, taking as much of Roman's thick length down his throat as he could and pulling off a little at a time before easing back down again.  The hand he wasn't using to stroke the part of Roman's dick he couldn't swallow was busy with Roman's balls, gently rolling his thumb over them. He'd already given them some attention earlier, sucking on them until he had Roman all warmed up and breathing hard.

Didn't take much to finish the job - just a few more of those deep sucks and his hand twisting lightly to meet his mouth, and before he knew it, Roman hissed air between his teeth and his hips stuttered up off the bed and he gasped out, "I'm there - oh, damn. So good, Dean."

With that, he tipped over, flooding Dean's mouth, bitter and salt; Dean swallowed it all down again, grimacing. Didn't taste any better the second time, but the tired smile Roman gave him was a pretty fair trade, he guessed.

He crawled back up to the pillows while Roman cooled off, his own dick at half a chub - enough to poke against his underwear. But he felt too lazy to do anything with it, so he sprawled out on his back, wiped away all the spit and the little bit of come that had escaped off his chin, and tucked an arm behind his head. Maybe he'd rub one out after Roman left for the day or something.

But Roman had other ideas, shifting over close and instructing Dean to roll onto his side.

He spooned Dean from behind, chest pressed tight to Dean's back, and reached around to slip Dean's underwear down out of the way.

"You don't have to," Dean protested. "I can-"

"Hush," Roman murmured.

"I'm just sayin'," Dean tried again. It needed to be said. "I know you don't know how this kinda thing goes, and not that I'm complaining, but you don't _have_ to get me off just because I get you off. That's not part of the deal. None of my customers ever do it."

Roman pressed himself even tighter to Dean's back. "They don't?"

"They give me money to get them off. That's the trade. It's about me gettin' paid to get them off. Me gettin' off doesn't enter the picture. Unless it's one of those rare times I got a dude wanting to get fucked, I don't even get hard anyway, so it's a moot point."

Thick fingers circled his dick,the ball of Roman's thumb swiping across the head. It felt really good. "If all I wanted was to just get off, Dean," Roman said, "I would've found some porn to watch and taken care of myself. I'm paying for this, and I happen to want you to get something out of it, too."

That actually gave Dean pause. He frowned at the windows. "I mean, I'm gettin' paid. So technically-"

"Besides that," Roman said over him. His voice was quiet, breath warm on the shell of Dean's ear. His hand stopped moving. "Just because I'm paying you doesn't mean you don't deserve to feel good, too. You've taken real good care of me so far, so now it's my turn. This is how I want it to go. All right?"

_Deserve? The hell?_ Dean cleared his throat, heated all over for some reason. "I mean, y'wanna gimme a hand, I'm not gonna say no. In fact, I'll say thanks. But _deserve's_ got nothing to do with it. I was just sayin' our deal was you pay me money and I get you off. You gettin' me off isn't required. But if you want to, then hell yeah. I'm totally here for it. And I appreciate it. You bein' decent and all. It's cool."

"Cool." Roman nipped the point of Dean's shoulder and squeezed Dean's dick a little tighter. "You deserve it. Now _hush_. Let me take care of this."

Who was Dean to argue?

He closed his eyes, relaxed, and let let Roman's firm, steady touch take him over the edge.

And when he finally came, it was with Roman's name in his mouth and a feeling of surprising satisfaction.

* * *

Later that morning, after a quiet shower and a quiet breakfast, they left the hotel, walking past the icy blonde woman at the front desk on their way. She smiled politely at Roman, but gave Dean the same steely look that had nearly frozen him in his tracks yesterday.

He looked down at himself, at his plain black tee shirt and jeans, and decided it was probably just her. He thought he looked okay. The jeans were old, but didn't have any holes in them. Granted, next to Roman, who was rocking a sharp gray suit and had this whole _I'm in charge - don't fuck with me_ aura around him, he didn't look like much. Even so, he didn't think he looked _that_ bad.

He'd left his jacket upstairs today, and as warm as it already was outside, he found he didn't need it.

Nice day, sunny and clear and comfortable.

Like yesterday, there was a fair amount of traffic on street.

Roman had his phone out again and was busy doing something on it; he'd done the same over breakfast, practically ignoring Dean in favor of squinting down at a tiny screen. Dean chose not to take offense, figuring it was probably work stuff.

Didn't really have much to say anyway; since that whole _you deserve it_ thing, he'd felt a little inside-out, unsettled. Jittery in a way that had him trying to avoid bumping Roman's shoulder as they walked, and wired like he'd had four cups of coffee instead of just one with breakfast.

Just to give his hands something to do, he pulled out his old dinosaur of a phone and flipped it open to check for missed calls or texts. Sami hadn't called back yesterday to apologize for being a dick, which was unusual. Most of the time it was only a few hours between dickhead episodes and the apology.

Dean considered calling, but shitcanned the idea in favor of laboriously tapping out a text message. Took forever because he kept hitting the stupid number keys too many times (Sami always mocked him for not buying a smartphone, but Dean preferred always to keep things simple - except times like this when he took fucking forever to write a simple text), but he managed to type out and send: _u ok? did u leave?_

As he was shoving his phone back into his pocket, he glanced over at Roman, who was still absorbed in whatever he was reading.

When Regal's gold-trimmed black awning came into view, Roman put his phone away turned in that direction.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, turning with him.

"We're paying William a visit," Roman said, smoothing his tie. "I want to make sure that what happened to you yesterday doesn't happen again."

Part of Dean wanted to protest this wasn't necessary, since it'd all worked out fine with Tyler and Fandango, but the vindictive part of him wanted to see Roman get in that pompous asshole's face. He kind of wanted to see Roman fuck somebody up. That part won out, and Dean didn't even bother to try not to smile as he followed Roman up to the old-fashioned building. "Good."

Roman's answering smile was warm. "Thought you might like that."

Inside Regal's sparse store, they found Regal again behind the counter at the left of the store, a tall man - taller than Dean and Roman - in a black suit with a vest and a yellow shirt open at the throat. Even looking down at tablet he seemed haughty, like the computer offended him or something.

"I'll be right with you," he murmured as Dean and Roman approached the counter.

Dean bounced right up. "Hey! Guess who's back? Guess who I brought with me?"

Regal froze.

"Hello, William," Roman said, leaning against the counter. "Long time no see."

And, _oh_ , the look on Regal's face when he lifted his head was _awesome_ , just this wide-eyed expression of _oh shit, I fucked up_. Pale eyes flicked from Roman to Dean and back, and slowly, Regal straightened, straightening his jacket. "Mr. Reigns. Roman. Hello. What, ah, what brings you by?"

"I think you know." Roman clapped Dean's shoulder. "I sent my friend here to buy some suits from you yesterday. Imagine my surprise when I found out that not only did you refuse to sell him anything, but that you threatened to call the cops on him. Why didn't you just call me? You have my number."

Regal's mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed, "Mr. Reigns, please, I - he was quite hostile when he was in here. He kicked my counter."

Dean bristled. " _I_ was hostile? I told you I wanted to buy some suits from you, and the first thing you told me was to go to the discount store down the street. Then you accused me of lying about knowing Roman. _And_ stealing. And then you threatened to call the cops. 'Scuse the fuck outta me for gettin' a little pissed off."

"Dean." Cool and calm, Roman stared Regal down from across the counter. "William, you embarrassed me. I told Dean here you'd take good care of him. You made me look bad.  Do you realize that?"

"I was - your card," Regal stammered weakly.  He'd backed away from the counter.  "I thought it'd been stolen..."

"In that case, you should have called me," Roman said.  "I'm not sure we can ever do business again."

"Mr. Reigns  Please..." Regal was practically squirming.  "I-I apologize for the misunderstanding yesterday-"

"Don't apologize to me yet," Roman cut him off.  "Wasn't me you were rude to.  You apologize to Dean first."

Regal looked like somebody about to get a tooth yanked out without anesthesia when he turned to Dean.  "I'm - my apologies.  For the misunderstanding."  It was the stiffest apology Dean had ever heard.  "And to you, Mr. Reigns.  You're correct.  I should have phoned you.  This will never happen again."

"Damn sure won't," Roman said, leaning over the counter.  "I'm still not sure we're gonna do business again."

"I do want to point out," Regal said, "that _you_ could have called ahead of time so I would have known to be expecting him. It's common courtesy. But let's not be hasty, shall we?" A pained smile and, "I'm sure there's something I can do to smooth over the situation. If the _gentleman_ -" he ground his teeth together around _that_ word "-still requires suits, I can certainly accommodate him at a reasonable discount.  Or you, if you'd like."

"I've never had to call ahead in all the years I've been coming here," Roman said. Stony. It was pretty bad-ass. "I didn't think it would be a problem. He already got what he needs, anyway, so no thank you." He turned away from the counter. "We're done doing business.  Dean, are you ready?"

Dean shot Regal a smart-ass grin and a salute. "Yep."

"Good," Roman said, reaching for the door. "Let's go shopping."

"You got it."

They left Regal standing there, staring after them.  In the reflection from the mirror over the door, Dean thought Regal looked like a fish that'd been pulled out of water and left on the bank, open-mouthed and stunned.

Dean turned back and gave Regal a little salute.

Regal just glared.

Once they were outside, Roman slipped a pair of shades out of a pocket and put them on. Dean once again fell into step beside him. "You really not gonna go back there?"

When Roman glanced over, all Dean could see was himself mirrored in Roman's lenses. "He didn't seem very apologetic to you, so no. I don't want to do business with people like that. You didn't deserve to be treated the way he treated you."

Deserve again. Dean cleared his throat. The back of his neck felt warm. "No, I didn't. But, uh, I appreciate it. Y'know. You doin' that. Didn't have to."

They weaved their way around a couple other pedestrians meandering along the sidewalk. Roman made a noise that sounded almost disapproving. "You gotta stop tellin' me I don't have to do things for you, Dean. I know I don't. I want to. So I'm gonna."

"Why?"

"Why not? If want to do things for you, if I _choose_ to, what's the problem? Why does it bother you?"

Dean looked off at the traffic-packed intersection up ahead of them, shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugged. "It's just not how I'm used to things going. It's weird."

"What, that someone wants you to enjoy yourself?" Roman huffed a quiet laugh and clapped Dean's shoulder as they drew to a stop at a crosswalk. "Do me a favor. Quit thinking about how things usually go for you. Forget about all that. Just accept the fact that I'm enjoying this and I want you to, too. Don't ask why. Don't get twisted up about it. Say thank you and enjoy it. That's all."

The first word jumped to Dean's tongue - again - was _why_ , but he swallowed it back. "Okay. Um. Thank you."

"So there's a golf shop across the street and a block up," Roman said, pointing. "That's where we'll go get you lined out for Friday. But if anything catches your eye on the way, we'll stop. I gotta head off to a meeting in about an hour, so we don't have all day, but we can look around."

They crossed the street at a busy intersection and made their way up a street filled with fairly big clothing stores with smaller coffee shops, a restaurant or two, and a bookstore sandwiched in between. There were a couple of small clothing stores, too - including one that sold what looked like vintage tee shirts that looked pretty cool.

But he didn't stop. He let Roman take him to a place called Top Flight Golf, which was this huge, open store filled with clothes and shoes and enough golf clubs to probably circle the globe. Dean knew exactly dick about golf, and reiterated that point to Roman, who waved him off and flagged down one of the customer service guys.

Roman had a quick conversation with the kid that started with, "He needs to be totally outfitted to caddy for me," and ended with the kid smiling and gesturing for Dean to follow him.

"I need to make a phone call while you're doing that," Roman said. "Pick out whatever you like. I'll be up front when you're ready to check out."

Dean couldn't decide if he was disappointed or relieved to see Roman walk away.

He'd kind of wanted Roman's opinion on this stuff, seeing as how he didn't have a fucking clue what he was doing.

But it turned out finding clothes to wear to wear caddying was a hell of a lot easier than modeling suits for Tyler had been. _That_ had been what felt like a week-long process of him trying on a whole rainbow of clothes and standing there in front of the bar like an idiot while Tyler and Fandango walked around him, tugging and flattening and straightening the material. It'd been the biggest relief of his life when they'd all agreed that last night's black suit and tonight's gray one were the winners.

Today, the customer service dude pointed out everything Dean needed, and then backed off to let him kind of wander through the racks. Dean didn't spend a lot of time deliberating. He grabbed a blue and white polo shirt, some khaki pants, a belt, a blue and white Nike cap, and a pair of shoes that were apparently good for caddies to wear (since boots on golf courses were apparently not a thing). The sales guy told him to try everything on; the sizes he picked all fit fine. Altogether, it didn't even take ten minutes, which was a million percent better than the hours-long dress-up marathon he had yesterday.

He was still convinced Tyler and Fandango did it on purpose.

They seemed to like touching him for some reason.

He and the sales guy carried everything up to one of the registers up front. Roman, still on the phone, made his way over long enough to swipe his credit card and sign for everything. He didn't really look at Dean or the sales guy at any point. Even Dean thought that was kinda rude, so as he grabbed his two bags, he muttered, "Sorry. Thanks for the help."

With that, he scrambled to follow Roman outside, nearly knocking over a bag of golf clubs in his haste to leave.

Roman had stopped outside the shop, near the wall to keep himself out of the way of people passing on the sidewalk. If the way he was frowning at the sidewalk and rubbing the back of his neck was any indication, his phone call wasn't going well. He didn't even look up when Dean drifted over.

And Dean just stood there like a dumb-ass, holding his bags and shifting foot-to-foot while Roman had what sounded like a tense conversation with somebody about Hunter.

Didn't even seem to realize Dean was there.

After a couple minutes, Dean cleared his throat.

Roman looked around, frowning. He wedged his phone between his ear and his shoulder, muttering, "That's right, that's right," to whoever was on the other line. Then he dug out his wallet and pulled out his credit card. He held it out and pulled the phone away from his ear.  "Here. Sorry, I'm gonna have to leave. Something's come up. Take this. Buy yourself something. Dinner's at seven, and I'll be back to get you around five-thirty or six. See you then."

He turned away and walked off, uncovering the speaker on his phone. "Sorry about that. I'm on my way."

Dean just stared after him, bewildered and disappointed, two bags and a piece of plastic in his hand.

_What the hell was that?_

* * *

After maybe half an hour of walking around looking at the stores along the block, Dean wound up shoving the credit card into his pocket and heading back to the hotel.

There wasn't much that caught his interest, except maybe the bookstore, but he'd already picked up a box of books cheap from a thrift shop a couple weeks ago, and had only finished two of them so far. He didn't really need more.

One shop had a bunch of kinda cool vintage tee shirts in it, but they were almost fifty bucks apiece. And the store next to it had leather jackets, but the cheapest one was like five hundred bucks. They were real nice, but they weren't five hundred dollars nice.  His old jacket had been through some hell, and had gotten a little battered over the years, but it was still in decent shape. No holes in it or anything.

It was still the best thing he owned.

Other than that, all he saw was clothes and more clothes, and not a single thread of it anything interesting to him, so he just carried his bag of golf clothes up to the bedroom in the suite, and hung everything up in the closet next to his suit for tonight.

Wasn't even ten o'clock yet, and he had no idea what to do with himself.

Sami had texted back at some point, Dean discovered when he checked his phone: _im fine.  in nm.  will call trw._

So he was already in New Mexico on his drug run, which meant he'd be gone until probably Friday.  They never hurried back on those drives.  At least he was alive.

But with Sami not home there was no reason for Dean to go back to the apartment, so he decided to try to read for a little bit.

Of course, the second he sat down out on the balcony with a book - a dog-eared James Patterson thriller - his brain decided to be stupid and started shoving Roman at him. All that confusing _you deserve it_ shit and the weird disappointment he really didn't understand and didn't want to think about.

Or why he felt so damn flipped around at the thought of Roman wanting to do things for him.

It wasn't that he felt like he didn't deserve to enjoy himself; he just didn't _expect_ to. _Enjoyment_ wasn't something he usually got out of working. Nice fucking change of pace to have a guy pick him up who not only was hot and amazing in the sack (holy _shit_ the sex had been awesome), but also actually _did_ want this to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. It was a fucking fairy tale - one he was having a little trouble getting his head around.

It was just a little too good to be true, and that was probably why it felt weird.

Shit like this didn't _happen_ \- not in the real world.

That, and he needed to be careful to keep some fucking distance. None of this actually _meant_ anything, and letting himself get sucked into the idea that it actually _did_ was a really bad idea. Because come Saturday, the coach and horses would turn back into a pumpkin and mice, and Deanarella would be walking his happy ass back to his slumpy little apartment. Roman, meanwhile, would be jetting back off into his slick corporate life. They weren't going to see each other again after this.

Already that thought came with a heap of disappointment.

On _top_ of the disappointment he'd felt when Roman had to take off in a hurry today.

Frustrated, Dean threw his book down and decided to take himself out of this stupid suite.

He needed to go somewhere else, like maybe the library to use the Internet or something.

On his way across the lobby, which looked like it had had some new flowers added to the sprawling garden of them, Dean heard someone call out, "Dane?"

"Huh? Oh." He wheeled around toward the front desk. Tyler stood behind it with the blonde woman. Today he had on a blue furry hoodie, sleeveless, and had his hair back in a ponytail as severe as the woman's. She was also wearing blue. They could have been siblings, because the look both of them gave him was about the same: cool and curious. "Hi."

"Hello," Tyler said primly. "How was your evening?"

_Oh_. Dean folded his arms on the counter. "It was good, actually. Roman really liked the suit. He was impressed. You did a great job." He knew damn good and well that was what Tyler actually wanted to know.

"Well, of _course_ I did," Tyler said, puffing up. "I always do. But that's good. I'm glad he liked it. Did you mention I might want him to model for me?"

Dean nodded. "He didn't really say one way or the other, but it won't hurt for you ask him."

"Then I will." Tyler glanced at something on the desk. "You said you have a dinner tonight?"

"Yeah, we're goin' to some fancy restaurant or somethin' I guess."

"Have you ever eaten at a nice restaurant before?"

"No," Dean admitted. "Nicest place I ever went was an Applebee's. Not exactly the height of fine dining. But I should be okay. Why?"

The blonde woman was the one who answered. "There is a certain etiquette you need when you eat at upscale establishments." She had a fairly heavy accent, but a pleasant voice, low and easy to listen to.  Piercing eyes.  They made him feel a little small.   "If you wish to avoid embarrassing yourself or Mr. Reigns, you need to know how to conduct yourself."

Frowning, Dean leaned forward on the counter. "I mean, what's to know? Don't eat like a pig and try not to spill anything, right?"

Both Tyler and the blonde looked at him like he was a complete fucking idiot. "There is much more to it than that," she said, a frown in her voice. "If Tyler will allow me, I will show you."

" _Please_ ," Tyler said fervently. "There's no point in having an amazing suit if you're going to be a sloppy eater or behave like a caveman. Go with Lana, Dan. She'll teach you what you need to know to keep from being completely embarrassing."

"But…" Dean hooked his thumb toward the door. "I was gonna go-"

"No, no, no," Tyler cut him off. "You _need_ to with Lana."

"Now please," Lana said in a tone that brooked no refusal. She made her way over to the end of the counter and stared off for the hallway Tyler and Fandango had taken Dean down yesterday. "Dane, this way."

Dean walked quickly to catch up with her. "What - where are we going? And my name is Dean."

"We are going to a place where I can teach you how not to, as Tyler said, be embarrassing," Lana replied. She opened a different door this time, which led into yet another hallway.

"Is your name actually Lana?" Dean asked suddenly. He felt like he was being pulled behind a car, but whatever. If it meant he wasn't going to embarrass Roman tonight, then maybe this wouldn't be so bad. "I've noticed Tyler's bad with names. I wouldn't wanna call you by the wrong one."

_Definitely_ not.

"It is Lana," she replied, glancing over her shoulder. "I've trained him to remember my name correctly."

There was some menace behind the way she said it that made the little hairs stand up on the back of Dean's neck. "I - see. Good. That's good. So why exactly are you doing this?"

"Mr. Reigns is a good man," Lana said. "Not as good as my Rusev, but he is good. Good for business. Good to have here. As Fandango said yesterday, helping you will make him more likely to stay with us. That, and you should want to better yourself for him."

There really wasn't much Dean could say to that, so he didn't even try.

About twenty minutes later, he found himself sitting at a desk in a little office with half a china cabinet's worth of dishes set out in front of him. Lana had parked him in here, and had left him. Apparently she'd gone down to the kitchen because when she came back, she had very tall dude pushing a cart full of food- and drink-laden dishes with her.

She was also holding a wooden spoon.

It was kind of terrifying.

The tall dude had proceeded to set out the plates, which were all full of food - some of which he didn't even recognize - along with about a billion pieces of silverware and half a dozen glasses. It looked like there was wine in some of them. He kind of hoped so because he had a feeling he was going to need it to get through this.

After the tall dude left with the cart, Lana moved to stand at Dean's left, looming. "Now," she said, "I want you to cut a piece of that-" she pointed at a piece of meat "-as you usually would. I want to see if you have anything resembling actual table manners."

Dean grabbed one of the knives, hacked off a bite of the meat, and shoved the whole thing into his mouth.

He'd done just exactly the same thing during breakfast with Roman, attacking a ham steak with a starving man's gusto.

He was _so_ not prepared for the wooden spoon to crack down on his knuckles.

But Lana whipped that thing down _hard_ even before Dean had set his fork down, and _holy shit_ did that sting.

" _Ow_!" he yelped, dropping the fork. He drew his stinging hand to his chest, and looked up at Lana wide-eyed and stunned. "What the hell was that for?!"

"I have seen dogs eat more neatly," she said with just a hint of a smile. She tapped that spoon into her other hand. Oh, she was definitely enjoying this. "I see we are going to have to start from the beginning. I suggest you learn well if you wish to spare yourself further pain."

She made her way around to the other side of the desk. "Now, let's begin…"

Dean swallowed and pulled his hand even closer.

* * *

"How the hell did this happen?" Roman demanded.

"I don't know," Seth said. The pair of them were alone upstairs in the Cesaros' conference room, Roman pacing the entire length of the table and Seth seated in the middle, watching. "I'm just as surprised as you are. I know Helmsley's ballsy, but I didn't think he'd just contact the Cesaros outright."

"He told them we were going to disassemble their company," Roman said, trying hard not to give into the temptation to go kick something. "Next time I see him, I'm gonna break his face."

Hunter had called Antonio, apparently, and had talked to him at some length about a business deal. In the process, he'd also told Antonio that Roman's old man was planning to dismantle and sell off the company if the sale happened. Antonio had called Roman right as he and Dean started looking around that old tee shirt shop, and man, he'd been pissed off.

He'd demanded an immediate meeting.

So here Roman was with Seth, the two of them just waiting to do damage control.

"Forget Hunter," Seth said, hands laced together on the table. "How are we playing this?"

"Same plan," Roman said. "It hasn't changed. We want to buy the company because we're looking to invest in something with growth potential."

"Be careful what you say," Seth cautioned him. "Anything you say right now could come back to bite you in the ass. Don't make any promises you're not prepared to keep. Unless you're planning to go to your old man and change the plans, you need to stay pretty vague."

"Same plan," Roman said again. "But we probably will have to give it eighteen months before we start selling off. I can still get away with saying we want to invest in them for their potential. Eighteen months is a good trial period. We can say we tried but we could see the writing was on the wall. We'll just tell him Hunter's a liar."

"Sit down," Seth said. "They're gonna think you're guilty if you're pacing around like that when they get up here. Let's talk about something else. How was your art gallery thing last night?"

"I had Michael Cole in my ear for almost two hours, if that tell you anything," Roman groused. He sat down in the seat across from Seth, where he'd thrown his portfolio earlier. "No, it was good. Michael's niece is a really talented artist. I bought a painting from her. My date did a really good job talking to her. She was happy when we left. Pretty good night for her, so good all around for us. How was your night? Do I wanna know?"

"Not unless you want to hear about this couple I had."

Roman covered his eyes. "Seth…"

"So this date of yours," Seth said, "you're bringing him tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Who is he?"

Before Roman could answer, the conference room door swung open. Quiet footsteps drifted in, followed by Antonio and his grandfather. All of them wore severe expressions. No smiles. No handshakes. Antonio's grandfather, a tall but slightly stooped elderly gentleman, made his way to the head of the table and sat down while Antonio, tall and bald and stone-faced, sat down to his right.

It was strange to see Antonio so cool where he'd been smiling and upbeat so far.

"Gentlemen," he said, eyeing Roman and Seth in turn. "My grandfather and I thought it best to get you here in a room to discuss this like men. As you know, this morning I was contacted by I believe a rival of yours. He wouldn't tell me exactly how he knew that your company and mine have been in talks. But he had some very interesting things to say, which I feel need to be set straight before we proceed any further."

"Go ahead," Roman said, adopting the same attentive posture as Seth: hands folded over his portfolio and calm eye contact Antonio. "Any concerns you have, we'll be happy to address them."

"I want to know, for one, how this Hunter found out about our talks."

"That I don't know," Roman admitted. "We haven't made any public comments anywhere. The only conversations that I've had personally have been with my father, and I know he hasn't talked about it. Seth hasn't, either."

"But we know Hunter has a way of finding things out," Seth put in. "He's done this before."

Antonio waved that off. "Yes, well, I suppose we can come back to that. I'm more concerned with why he'd be under the impression you intended to buy this company just to sell it off. In looking through your portfolio, we didn't see any indication you were in that sort of business. But Hunter told me about several companies you did that to, and in digging a little deeper this morning, I saw he was correct. Your father has bought companies to just to sell them off immediately afterward. If our talks to go any further, Roman, I want assurances from you that we're not going to suffer that same fate."

"You won't," Roman said calmly. Distant guilt bubbled up in him, but he tamped it down. No emotion at the negotiating table. "I think your ideas are gonna go a long way to help turn this ship around. We're not looking to flip your company for a quick buck. We want to help it grow. Whatever Hunter told you, it was just to get you to do exactly what you're doing now: questioning us, doubting us. That's what he does. Once he's got you doubting us, he'll ride in with an offer you can't refuse. Except it'll be bullshit. I can give you a list of probably twenty companies that he's wrecked doing things like this. He'll do the same with your company.

"Think about it," he went on. "Somehow, some way, he found out that we were in _private_ talks, and he stuck his nose in. That doesn't sound like a very scrupulous businessman to me. Does it to you? My father and I have dealt with you on your time and your terms. We didn't end-around to try to sneak your business out from underneath anybody. We don't do things like that."

The elder Cesaro glanced at his grandson and sat back in his chair. "You have been very accommodating." He had a much more pronounced accent than Antonio. "And you raise a good point. I do want to know how this Hunter Helmsley learned of our negotiations."

"I do too," Roman admitted. "If he calls you back, I'd suggest you ask him. If it were me, I wouldn't talk to him until he told you how he got his information."

"That's a good suggestion," Antonio said, quiet and thoughtful. "He will call back, I'm sure. He was persistent. He was angling for a meeting." He eyed Roman narrowly. "We would need more than just your word on this, Roman. My instincts say we can trust you because, as you say, you've been forthright with us so far, but I don't want any undue surprises."

Oh, that didn't bode well. "What would you need?"

"To structure our deal so you and your father would agree to keep the company operational for a minimum of ten years."

"No," Seth said immediately, curt and sharp. "That would be an unenforceable contract. That's ridiculous. You can't _force_ somebody to keep a company open for ten years - not when the market for what you do is volatile at best. If plans fall apart this year and you start hemorrhaging money - more than you are - you can't force Roman and his father into a position of having to feed you cash to play life support for a decade just to keep people in jobs. You would be talking _billions_. You guys don't even have a plan in place for the next _years_. You just have _ideas_."

" _Seth_ ," Roman said calmly. "Thank you." Roman swiveled back around toward Antonio. "Unfortunately, Seth's correct. We're absolutely willing to do what we have to in order to right the ship here, but a ten-year guarantee is out of the question. Especially, as Seth pointed out, since there is no actual set plan in place. My father and I were talking last night, and we talked about setting up an eighteen-month plan. That's a reasonable amount of time to start implementing changes and to start analyzing the effects."

Antonio rubbed his chin, bushy eyebrows pulled together. "But you are making a plan."

"Yes, we are. Eighteen months to start, and then we'd make any adjustments necessary afterward."

"Would you put _that_ in writing?"

"I have no problem with that."

"I don't see any problems with it, either," Seth said. "From a legal standpoint. Like Roman said, that's fair to both side and reasonable."

"We're still undecided on whether or not to go through with this sale," Willard said in his quiet, heavily-accented way. "That is a decision that I'm unwilling to make without more discussion with Antonio and our attorney. However, this does put my mind at ease."

"Mine as well," Antonio said, a hint of his usual smile surfacing. "Although if we do proceed with this sale, I would like to be involved in the planning process."

"Of course," Roman said. It'd be a pain in the butt to put on an eighteen-month dog-and-pony show for the Cesaros here, but that would his dad's problem. Roman was just here to close the sale. "But if Helmsley _does_ call back, you'll be sure to tell him-"

"We're not interested," Antonio nodded. "As you say, it's a bit...underhanded, what he did."

"Great," Roman said. "Any more questions you have for us, or…? Did you want to just get your team up here, and we can pick up where we left off yesterday since we're here?"

Willard rose. "I have another meeting to get to, actually. I'll leave you in Antonio's capable hands."

"I'll walk you out," Antonio said, standing himself. "I need to go gather a few things anyway. Roman, Seth, would you like some coffee or anything while you wait?"

"I'm good with water," Seth said, holding up his bottle.

"I'm fine, too," Roman said, indicating his mostly-full coffee cup.

"I'll be back in about ten minutes, then," Antonio said, following his grandfather out of the room.

Seth waited until they were out of earshot to lean across the table and say, "You sure your old man's gonna go for that?"

"We already talked about it last night, actually," Roman said. "I don't see a problem. It'll give us time to pump up the value of the company. It's a win-win."

"Cool," Seth said, flashing Roman a grin that revealed the gap in his teeth. "In that case, nice save. You da man, Rome."

"Yeah," Roman said, sipping his coffee. "I'm the man."

He sat back and stared out the windows behind Seth.

For a victory, it sure didn't feel like much of anything.

( _Do you like your job?_ )


	6. Night Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter. Eesh.

" **New Tricks"  
**_VI. Night Three_

By comparison to the tornado of a meeting with Antonio, the rest of Roman's day flew by.

It was actually on the boring side.

On more than one occasion, he found his thoughts drifting back to this morning.

It was a shame he'd had to leave Dean in such a hurry - he'd been looking forward to spoiling him a little this morning, just because - but, given a few hours' distance from the situation, he was a little relieved to for the break.

For the chance to get his head right about what the hell was going on here.

Last night, he'd just swept up in this strange damn whirlpool of being amazed at Dean's transformation and the _need_ to take care of him and _have_ him. Where the hell all that was coming from, he had no idea. People didn't _hit_ him like that, but in the wee hours of the morning, he'd found himself on the verge of straight-up admitting sometimes he wished his old man _had_ let him find his own path, that sometimes he wished he _could_ just land somewhere for a while stay, that sometimes being _that damn good_ just wasn't enough.

He'd stopped himself for the same reason he'd stopped himself from grabbing Dean's hand on the street last night: even if things were feeling comfortable - and intense - between them, the bottom line was, this was a temporary stopover for the both of them.

A _business_ arrangement.

One that would come to an end with Roman flying off to the rest of his life, and Dean getting on with his.

In a business situation, there was no room for emotion.

He could spoil Dean and enjoy him, but it needed to stop there.

Had to.

Hopefully Dean had found himself something nice to buy. Maybe he'd gone to Paige's gallery and picked something up for himself. Or maybe he'd bought himself nice new leather jacket and some new boots. Some new clothes. Or maybe he'd just bought himself something completely random.

Whatever it was, Roman couldn't wait to find out.

All afternoon, he kept trying to hurry things along so he could leave early and hopefully talk Dean into bed for a nice tension-breaker before dinner. Anything to wash the taste of this morning out of his mouth. Get Dean to go down on him again - _damn_ his mouth was incredible - and then maybe take it out to the deck and have Dean ride him in the late afternoon sun. Sounded about perfect.

So perfect he made himself stop thinking about it: sporting a hard-on in the middle of Serious Business just wasn't professional.

He and Seth left Antonio's office a little after noon, and, after a leisurely lunch, they split up to tackle their respective projects for the afternoon. Seth, who'd spent the entire lunch ogling the servers and playing armchair conspiracy theorist about how the hell Hunter found out, had a Skype call with his firm he needed to get to. Roman left a message for his dad to call him ASAP, and then headed off to go visit an ailing shipping company that had recently put itself up for sale.

This one looked more promising than the social media company had: its fleet of delivery trucks looked like they were mostly new and in good shape. The building was only about ten years old. Everything had been well-kept - including the yard and the parking lot. Offices were clean and well-organized. Plenty in here they'd be able to sell off.

But that plan to get back to the hotel early went a little awry because he got busy talking to the owner of the shipping company, and couldn't break away.

When finally did - at a quarter to five - he got about two steps away from his car when his dad called. Sighing, he answered it and climbed into his car. "Dad."

From the other side of the country, his old man said, "Afternoon, son. I got your message."

Roman threw on his seatbelt, activated the hands-free, and pulled the car out of the parking lot. "And?"

"I think we're safe to commit to eighteen months on paper as long as we're careful to avoid putting down anything that ties us down beyond that. Reviewing the deal isn't the same as _renewing_. That's the language we want to use. Subject to _review_."

"Are you gonna be okay with letting the Cesaros in on the planning process?"

"We'll do what we have to. I ran some numbers with accounting today based on what you emailed me, and I actually prefer this eighteen-month plan idea. Like you said, it'll give us time to build up the company's worth so we'll be able to get even more out of it. We should be able to almost triple what we pay for it. Good work, son."

Praise that normally made him smile did nothing for him this time. He tugged irritably at his tie. "Any word on how the hell Hunter Helmsley got his fingers into the pie?"

A deep sigh, and, "We're just now looking into it, so no, nothing  yet."

"Seth thinks somebody's spying on us."

"That boy has a guilty conscience."

"With good reason," Roman muttered.

"I've heard rumors," his old man said, clear disapproval in his voice. "I don't want to know. Michael Cole sent me a nice email this morning. Apparently you and your date were a hit with his niece. She was raving about how well the night went. That's good to hear. Who is this date you took?"

"Someone I met the other night," Roman said. "I hired him. Turned out to be a good move. He was great with Paige. I think he'll be good with the Cesaros. He's very down-to-earth. It'll be fine."

"You _hired_ him." The flatness of his father's words made Roman wince. He pulled to a stop at a red light, and waited. "I sincerely hope, son of mine, that you didn't actually tell anyone that."

"Of course not," Roman said impatiently. "I'm not stupid, Dad. It never even came up."

"Keep it that way," his dad said. Like Roman actually needed to be told. "So Finn was here yesterday with his father. He asked about you. Apparently word reached him you're back on the market. He'll be around when you're here next week. I really think you two ought to go have dinner one night.  Or I can invite their family for brunch."

"No."  Roman nearly punched his dashboard in frustration. "I'm not into him that way."

"You _think_ you're not, but you haven't given him a chance."

"Just run your company, Dad. Stop trying to run my life."  That was rude, but Roman was past caring.  "That shipping company looked good. We need to go through their books, but everything was clean and well-kept. Still new enough it should have plenty of value."

For once in his life, his old man took the hint. "I'll send Jey and Jimmy up to look at it. They need to get some experience under their belts. Plus, their _wives_ have earned a little vacation. The boys have been working hard."

"Good," Roman said with zero feeling. The light turned green and he he was so tempted to floor it and bulldoze the Mercedes through all the traffic ahead of him. "I think that's everything I got."

"Think about taking Finn somewhere," his dad said. Of course. "Maybe you just need to get to know him better."

"Uh-huh." Roman disconnected the call and took a very deep breath.

He glanced at the clock on his dash. Five. By the time he waded through his ocean of traffic and made it to the hotel, he'd probably have five minutes to get ready. No chance to get into anything with Dean.

 _Dammit_.

* * *

He was later than he wanted to be, which meant all he had time to do was tell Enzo to call upstairs to the suite and have Dean come down to the car.

While he waited, Roman tried his best to straighten his jacket and tie. His hair, fortunately, had all stayed put in the bun, so it looked fine. He found some breath mints in his console and chewed them. This was good as he was going to get.

Really, he probably wouldn't have done much anyway. Changed his watch or his tie, maybe, but this was perfectly fine. He liked the checked gray, and the red tie looked good with it - a nice splash of color in the suit.

Still daylight out, so when Dean made his way out of the hotel, Roman had a clear view of him.

Just like last night, the first - and only - thing Roman could really think was: _wow_.

 _Wow_.

Dean was in gray tonight, like Roman, but just a shade lighter. Pale blue dress shirt and a dark blue tie. Hair slicked back again. His new watch on.

That suit fit him like it was made for him, and _man_ , did he wear it well.

There was kind of a swagger about him as he high-fived Enzo on his way to the car, like he _knew_ he looked good. Because he did, and _God_ , Roman wished he'd been able to get away from work earlier today. What he wouldn't have given to be able to wrap himself around all that for an hour or two.

He settled for smiling as Dean made his way into the passenger seat and got his seatbelt on. "Hey."

Dean smiled back, dimples and blue eyes popping thanks to his tie. "Hi. How are you?"

"Better now," Roman answered honestly. "You look _great_ , Dean. Again. Damn. You really do." He was the definition of _cleaned up nice_. "Wow."

"For all the shit I went through with Tyler yesterday, I better look good," Dean said.  "Thanks."

"Sorry I didn't come up and get you, but I'm running late."

"That's fine."

Roman waved at Enzo and pulled away from the curb. "What'd you get up to today? You buy yourself anything special?"

He always used to enjoy this part of his day with Cody, hearing about all the things Cody either did or went out and bought during the day. Cody loved to shop. It made him happy. Hearing him happy made Roman happy by proxy.

But Dean just shrugged. "I didn't really buy anything, no."

"You didn't?" Roman had to work just as hard to keep the surprise out of his voice as he did the disappointment. "Why not?"

"I dunno. Nothin' really caught my eye."

"Nothing at all?" Roman frowned. "Didn't you see that store with all the cool leather jackets in it? We walked right past it on the way to the golf shop. Thought maybe you'd pick one up. Or go back by Paige's and grab yourself a painting. You could have. That would've been fine."

Maybe they could throw that on the agenda for tomorrow, since that was a day off.

"I don't have anywhere to put a painting," Dean said. "And what's wrong with my jacket?"

"Nothing," Roman said quickly. "But you can have more than one. There's no law that says you can _only_ have one. You can have as many as you want." Definitely on the agenda for tomorrow. "I just wanted you to get yourself something nice."

"I mean, I appreciate that, but I'm not really a big possessions guy. Where I live, they have a way of getting stolen." Dean shifted, flexed his hands. His knuckles, Roman noticed in a quick glance, were bright, splotchy red. They looked almost sunburnt. "It's no big deal. How was your day?"

Roman shook his head. He guided the car into the right lane and eased to a stop at a red light. "It was fine. So what _did_ you do today, then?"

"Lana taught me some, like, etiquette stuff for dinner, and then I took a nap. Then I read for a while. And then it was time to get ready. 'Bout it. Nothin' real exciting."

"What kind of etiquette stuff?" Roman asked gruffly.

"Just, like, how told hold forks and everything the right way. Things not to talk about. It was pretty helpful, actually. Lotta stuff I didn't know. Although - word of advice? She ever offers to teach you something, wear gloves." Dean looked over again. "Why do you sound mad?"

"I'm not mad," Roman said. He wasn't. "I was just hoping you'd go have some fun today. You had my card. If you didn't want to buy yourself something, you could have gone somewhere and done something."

"You didn't tell me that," Dean said waspishly. "You just threw your card at me and said 'go buy something.' Which is a nice gesture and all, and I'm not trying to sound ungrateful, but I'm not a shopping kinda guy. Sorry I didn't go blow a bunch of money that's not mine."

Put that way, Roman could see how ridiculous he was acting. "I didn't throw it at you," he said, "but I take your point. My bad. I was in a hurry and I guess I wasn't clear. I meant you could do whatever. Within reason. But that's fine. If you didn't want to, that's okay. I have a free day tomorrow, so we can go find something then. Or go do something you want to. Be thinking."

Dean stared out the passenger window, still giving off those annoyed vibes. "Okay."

"Hey." And when Dean glanced around, Roman tried another smile. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to hassle you. You look great, and you're gonna be fine. Antonio and his grandfather are nice people. We had kind of a rough start this morning. That Hunter I was telling you about actually called Antonio and tried to get in between him and us. I had to head over to their offices to make sure they weren't about to bail on the deal. I think we're good. Should be smooth sailing tonight. No pressure."

Some of the starch faded out of Dean's posture, at least.  "Did you get them to agree to your deal, then?"

"Not yet, but we're getting closer."

"Mm." Dean returned his attention to the passenger window. "'S anybody gonna think it's weird, you bringing somebody you just met with you?"

"I mentioned you were coming," Roman said. "I sort of explained the situation to Seth and Antonio already."  He reached over to pat Dean's knee.  "Just relax.  You'll be fine."

It would be.

* * *

Frias was a discreet little French-Italian restaurant in one of the more upscale neighborhoods of the city.

It was one of Roman's favorites because of their eclectic menu of fish and other seafoods, and also their pastas. Their agnolotti - with pork - was a particular favorite. So was the lobster.

That, and it was a nice restaurant all around: homey brick walls and mellow dark wood furniture, gray floors and clean white tablecloths, antique-looking gold chandeliers and a lot of dark-and-gold abstract art on the walls. There was something almost comfortable about the private dining room he and Dean were taken into.

Somehow, they'd beaten everyone there.

Dean didn't immediately go to sit, but instead stood near the long table and checked out the room in the same quiet way he'd checked out Roman's suite the other night. Seemed to be a thing with him, getting the lay of the place before he made any kind of moves.

"How many people are coming?" he eventually asked.

"Eleven, I think," Roman said. "Seth and Antonio aren't bringing anyone, but Willard - that's Antonio's grandfather - is bringing his wife. Their lawyer is coming with _his_ wife, and two ore three of their senior executives are coming solo. I'm gonna sit at the head of the table. I'll have you and Antonio on one side of me, Willard and Seth on the other side of the table, and everyone else can sit wherever. I don't want this to be all of us on one side and all of them on the other. I'd like to make sure everyone's mixed."

As he was saying that, Seth made his way into the room in a slim black suit. He'd replaced the black shirt he'd been wearing with a white one and had even put on a tie for once. He'd pulled his hair back, too.

The first place Seth's eyes went as he paused at the foot of the table was Dean. Roman stood quietly behind his chair and just watched, curious. Dean was over toward the middle of the table, doing that poker-faced thing, and Roman almost caught himself smiling at Seth's vague frown. As good as Roman had become at reading people, he didn't hold a candle to Seth, who was probably the unrivaled master of sizing people up at a glance.

He wondered what kind of a read Seth was getting - if any.

The sound of approaching voices prevented him from even making introductions, as the restaurant's host made her way into the room with the Cesaros, their lawyer, and their well-dressed executives all trailing behind. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, quiet laughter and smiles bubbling between them, and that was a good sign.

It was always nice to start things off with everyone in decent spirits.

The first five or so minutes were just a quick mush of handshakes and introductions, Roman quickly introducing Dean - "my date" - to Antonio, to Willard and his wife Anna, their attorney Paul Heyman and his wife, and the trio senior executives - two women and a man whose names Roman forgot almost as soon as Willard said them.

He was great with faces, but terrible at remembering names - no matter how many times he repeated them to himself  In this case, he didn't worry too much about it because Seth _was_ good at remembering people's names, and not only knew how bad Roman was, but also had a smooth way of slipping them into conversation as a reminder for Roman.  And that had saved Roman's ass on many occasions.  

Seth always had his back.

Dean was polite, but very quiet. He still looked a little nervous, fingers flicking at his sides, so Roman moved pretty quickly to get everyone seated, with himself at the head and Dean to his left. Antonio sat on Dean's other side, with the Heymans and one of the execs filling out the rest of that side of the table. Willard and his wife sat to Roman's immediate right, followed by Seth, and the other two execs.

Once he was seated, Dean seemed to relax a little, the lines of his suit not quite so stiff.

But he sat quietly at first, mostly nursing a glass of wine while everyone broke out into conversations: the execs and Seth talking about the city, Willard and Anna chattering away with the Heymans about a trip they were planning to take back to Switzerland, and Roman and Antonio talking about the latest scandal on Wall Street.

The scandal was a big deal, involving a lot of supposed insider trading between a couple of huge pharmaceutical companies, and a lot of lying to federal investigators.

Roman wasn't somebody who usually paid much attention to those kinds of stories, but this one was huge and juicy and apt to have large ramifications, so he'd kept an eye on it.  Antonio, a self-admitted news junkie, had too.  And he shared Roman's opinion that at least one CEO was probably going to prison before it was all said and done.  They weren't quite in agreement over which one it would be, and debated that back and forth for a bit.

Which prompted Anna, at one point, to roll her eyes at Antonio from across the table and mutter, "You and your Wall Street gossip. You're worse than my bridge club."

"We aren't gossipping," Antonio insisted. He nearly spluttered into his wine. "This is _news_. It's important."

His grandmother's sly smile said she knew better.

But every time Roman's gaze fell on Dean, he felt bad.

Dean was clearly trying to listen to what Roman and Antonio were saying, but he looked a little lost. His attention kept wandering to his wine glass like it would explain to him what was going on.  Seemed tense and uncomfortable again, almost like he was wondering what he was even doing there.

So when he got a chance, Roman changed the subject: "Antonio, have you eaten here before?"

"I have not, no," Antonio said, looking around in the same way Dean had earlier, bright and interested. "This is one of the many places on my wishlist, but this is my first time here. It's very nice."

"Dean's never eaten here, either," Roman said, smiling a little when he caught Dean's deer-in-headlights look. Under the table, he nudged Dean's leg. _Relax_. "You're both in for a treat. Last time I was here I had the agnolotti - that's a filled pasta - that was...oh, man. I _dreamed_ about it after I left. They have it back on the menu this summer, too.  I can't wait.  But, hey, yeah, heck of an experience your first time in the city, huh, Dean?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said, clearing his throat. He set his wineglass down and folded his hands together behind it.  "It's - uh, yeah, I'd say so."

"I'm sorry," Antonio said, glancing at Dean himself, "but Roman told me where it was you're from, but I can't remember."

"Ohio," Dean said. "Cincinnati."

"Oh, that's right. What brought you out here?"

"Vacation. First one I've had in forever. Just-so happened I met Roman, and we really hit it off, so..." Dean spread his hands, sat back in his chair, shook his head.  "Been a real unexpected couple of days, that's for sure."

In retrospect, Roman supposed it _was_ a little unusual, him bringing a date he'd only known a couple days, but Antonio smoothed right over that by smiling back at Dean. "I would say so. It's like hitting a jackpot, no?"

Dean shot Roman a dry look. "I mean, I wouldn't go _that_ far.  Roman's...okay."

" _Okay?_ " Roman asked, all mock-hurt and good humor. "I'm okay? Just _okay_?"

"What?" Dean said. He tried to sound innocent, but his glint in his eye and his dimples gave him away. By far and away, that was Roman's favorite look. Mischief and trouble. "It's better 'n bein' _not_ okay, right? Right. 'Sides, if I hit a jackpot, then Roman here won the lottery. C'mon now. We're both prizes."

Antonio laughed warmly and held up a hand. "Of course, of course. I meant no disrespect."

That was just opening Dean needed, apparently, and he was still smiling when he reached for his wine. About a hundred times more relaxed than he had been a few minutes ago. "None taken. Like I said, it's been an interesting couple days. So, where are you from originally, Antonio?"

Roman picked up his own drink and smiled as Antonio and Dean settled into conversation.

 _We're both prizes_.

 _Damn right_.

* * *

Like the gallery thing last night, the dinner thing, turned out to be less of a big deal than Dean expected.

Yeah, there were a bunch of people in suits and dresses sitting around a long table in some restaurant's private room, and yeah, they had what seemed like an army of servers and stuff just for them, but things calmed down pretty fast.

The first probably ten minutes were just about as awkward as anything, with him just sitting there like an idiot, totally clueless what anybody was talking about. He got Antonio and Roman were talking about some companies that were in trouble with the government, but he didn't know anything about it, so it didn't make a whole lot of sense to him.

He _got_ that there was some kind of insider trading scandal going on - he wasn't completely ignorant of business stuff - but they were talking about other things involved with it that he'd never heard of before. And Antonio's grandparents were talking about trips to places he'd never been and couldn't relate to.  Ditto the Seth guy at the far end of the table, who'd started talking golf with the two ladies and the dude. 

All Dean could think was: _Who the fuck was I kidding? I don't belong here_.

And this was even _before_ he opened the menu in front of him.

But Roman must have clued into that, because he kicked the door open a little for him to talk to Antonio, and once _that_ happened, he went from staring into his wine - and wishing he just had a nice bottle of cheap beer - to talking with Antonio while Roman turned his attention to Antonio's grandparents.

That'd happened last night, too: he'd been standing over by a painting, uncomfortable and not sure what he was even supposed to be _doing_ , when Paige had just wandered over and started talking to him. It was fine after that. She'd been awesome to talk to, good sense of humor and totally down-to-earth, and it was cool hearing about all her inspirations and where all her ideas came from.

Antonio was a dude who just kinda _oozed_ cool.

He gave of this easy James Bond-ish vibe that Dean liked.

An intense, interesting dude, he didn't hesitate to to talk to Dean at all once the ice had been broken.

Like his grandparents, he'd been born in Switzerland, and lived there a few years before he'd headed over to the States. And like Roman, Antonio had pretty much been groomed to work in the family business from the time he was young. Unlike Roman, though, Antonio didn't even _have_ to say he loved working for his grandfather for that to come through loud and clear.  There was a proud smile on his face the entire time he explained that his grandfather patented a kind of conductor that had become an electronics industry standard, and with the money, he'd opened up the family's manufacturing plant.

Things had gotten tough over the years for them because it was cheaper to manufacture parts overseas, but Antonio sounded genuinely excited at the prospect of using the money from the sale to start manufacturing different kinds of medical equipment that could be shipped to third-world countries to help them out.  Other lab instruments, too.

_You're gonna shut this dude's company down, Roman?_

When he frowned over at Roman, though, he found Roman was knee-deep in a conversation about Italy with Antonio's grandparents.

Weirdly, when he turned back to Antonio, Dean happened to notice that Seth guy - tall dude with a funky blond streak in his hair - frowning at him from his place in the middle of the table. But no sooner did Dean make questioning eye contact than Seth looked away.

Dean let it go, figuring Seth was probably just curious or something.  They hadn't had a chance to actually say anything to each other before dinner started.

But it wasn't the only time he noticed it.

When he nearly KOed his wineglass with his elbow during an enthusiastic explanation of a Cheese Coney, Antonio laughed his hearty laugh. Roman's quick reflexes saved the glass from tipping, and Dean shot him a grateful smile. But as he'd gone to finish his description of the perfect, fluffy cheese (he craved that shit every single day of his life), he saw that Seth guy watching him again.

Staring, dark eyes narrow and his expression completely unreadable.

He looked away as soon as Dean made eye contact, though, and again, Dean shook it off.

The other helpful thing about Antonio was that he'd never eaten at this restaurant before, and wasn't afraid to ask questions of the server who came to take his order. That helped Dean feel a little less dumb about not knowing what most of the stuff on the menu was - or even exactly how he was supposed to order it.

He got what Roman did - the Agnolotti Verte, which the server told him had pork and walnuts and some other stuff in it - and managed to order all the other courses without stumbling too bad.

Roman got up to go talk to the folks at the other end of the table, so Dean went back to listening to Antonio and his grandparents tell him about Switzerland. Willard had the look of just a nice grandfather-type dude, and his wife Anna seemed like kind of a sly and sharp. Dean bet she was a spitfire. Nice people, he guessed. Not exactly the kinds he'd ever really associated with, but interesting enough he guessed he didn't mind pretending he didn't feel massively out of place around them.

But _yet again_ , he caught Seth watching him, gaze homed in like some kind of dark laser.

"I'm interested to try the food here," Antonio said suddenly, pulling Dean's attention back to him. "So is my girlfriend. She's back in Canada visiting family this week. She was a little upset with me when I told her where I was going tonight. But such is life. She knows I can't resist a fine meal when it's offered. I love things like this. Do you cook?"

"No," Dean admitted with a rueful smile. _Girlfriend_.  That was good to know.  "I guess that's Roman's thing. He told me he's really into cooking. Wants to do culinary tours."

"Interesting," Antonio said. "He's never mentioned that. I went Paris for a few months when I was younger and did that. It's quite an experience. It wasn't _technically_ a culinary tour, since I was there longer than a week, but I wasn't training to be a chef, either.  I was just there to learn a few techniques and expand my horizons. Learn the language.  It's a definite must. What hobbies do _you_ have, then?"

"I - uh, outdoorsy stuff," Dean said, mentally scrambling for things that weren't 'watching pro wrestling on YouTube' and 'Googling for porn'. "I like hiking. Mountain biking. That kind of thing." Which wasn't _technically_ a lie. He'd always wanted to get into that kind of stuff; he'd just never had the time or the means.  "Sports. I like sports. And reading."

Fuck, he sounded boring.

"Oh, I'm a fan of the outdoors myself," Antonio said with a smile. "I get out any chance I can. Biking and rock climbing. I love to go on expeditions. Mountain climbing. Skiing, too. Have you ever been rock climbing? _That_ is a physical challenge."

Dean didn't doubt it: under that suave-ass suit, he could tell Antonio was really in shape. Kind of like Roman that way.  The suit didn't hide it at all. "I haven't," he admitted, watching Roman start to make his way back around the table. "I'm not a giant fan of heights."

As Roman walked past Seth, Seth laid a hand on Roman's arm to stop him. Seth got to his feet and pulled Roman aside, away from the table, the two of them having a quick, tense little conversation that was too quiet for Dean to hear. It ended with a frowning Roman approaching the table and saying, "Will you all excuse us? We're going to step out for just minute. We'll be right back."

They both walked out of the room, leaving everyone at the table looking on in confusion.

Conversation went on without them, though, thanks to Paul Heyman picking up drink, looking over the two guys and two women at the end of the table and saying, " _Any_ way, so my client, Brock Lesnar, decided he just _had_ to see what the fuss was with this grizzly bear…"

Antonio chuckled and brought Dean back to their conversation about hobbies, and Dean had time to learn that, in addition to cooking and rock climbing, Antonio also liked to paint and was big into trying all these different specialty coffees from around the world.

Interesting dude, for sure, Dean thought.  Seemed like he had a good head on his shoulders.

And again that thought - _You're really gonna shut this guy's company down?_ \- surfaced while he waited for Roman and Seth to come back to the table.

_What the hell are they doing?_

It wasn't even three minutes before they were back, but Roman still looked pretty bothered, a frown carving deep grooves into his forehead.

He didn't make eye contact with Dean as he sat down, stead picking some invisible lint off his jacket and reaching for his drink.

Seth, on the other hand, looked right at Dean and smiled a smile that made the little hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

* * *

Fortunately, dinner came out soon after that and provided a much-needed distraction.

The servers brought out the food a course at a time, these spotless white plates with little dishes on them that looked nothing like anything Dean had ever seen before: it was like art, the way it was all laid out, little splashes of color - reds and oranges and greens - and sauces smeared to sharp points. Bites of food that looked kind of _pretty_ , in a way.

Almost too pretty to eat, and more like it should have been photographed for a magazine or something.

Mindful of his aching knuckles and with Lana's husky voice in his head, he ate carefully and slowly, trying to pace himself to eat about as slow as everyone else was. No elbows on the table. Careful not to clunk his silverware on his plates or make any ugly metal-on-porcelain dragging sounds when he cut stuff. Didn't spill anything or get anything on his face or slurp.

To his relief, there weren't a billion pieces of silverware beside his plate, either. There were a couple forks, a couple spoons, and so on, but it wasn't anything outrageous like Lana had set up for him. And a couple of the courses - like the chilled soup he had - came with the silverware he was supposed to use. That was nice.

The only real issue he had was that he didn't exactly _love_ the food the way Roman did.

Roman - and Antonio, too, for that matter - couldn't stop raving about each course.

Maybe it was just because it was different and he'd never eaten anything like a chilled soup or green pasta filled with pork and walnuts before, but Dean kind of found himself wishing about halfway through that he had a couple of Cheese Coneys instead. It wasn't that the food was _bad_ or anything; it was all right, but to look at Roman's face at a couple of points, the food was _orgasmic_.

It literally looked like Roman was coming in his pants.

Which was actually hilarious and, in a weird way, made Dean like Roman even more.

Guy definitely liked his food.

And he kept giving Dean these hopeful puppy dog looks, gray eyes warm and full of questions: _Do you like it? It's good right? Are you enjoying it?_

Dean was hardly a stranger to faking enjoyment by this point in his life, so he put on the best smile he could and nodded like he _wasn't_ mentally drooling over the thought of chili and fluffy cheese.

It was worth it for the smile Roman gave him.

Oh, tonight at the hotel would be a lot of fun.

(As long as Roman didn't make him, like, get into all that _please, Roman_ begging shit, anyway.)

The nice part was, that Seth guy didn't really look over again after that weird smile. He and the other lawyer seemed to be having a competition over who could keep everybody's attention on them the longest.  It sounded like the other lawyer - the Heyman guy - was winning, because he kept talking about some dude named Brock Lesnar and a weird lawsuit involving a moose, a grizzly bear, and the state of Minnesota.

As dinner wound down, things took a turn for the more serious, with Willard Cesaro shedding that kindly grandfather thing for a cooler businessman air. He started interrogating Roman about Reigns International's charity work and their commitment to keeping jobs in the country. He also questioned Roman about why they weren't more transparent about companies that they'd bought and sold off.

"Why did it take one of your competitors telling us that you were also in the business of buying and selling off companies for that to come to light?"

That changed the whole atmosphere in the room in a hurry, with everyone sort of sitting up straighter and looking at each other like, _Oh, shit, did you_ hear _that?_ It didn't ruffle Roman's feathers in the slightest, though. He set his knife and fork down and leaned back in his chair. "Because we prefer to focus on the companies we're _growing_ , for one," he said, just as smooth as silk. "For another, most of the companies we buy are about to go defunct anyway. Their owners just want out as quickly as possible, so there's nothing to talk about. For a third, it's irrelevant to our discussions. Like I told you this morning, we're not planning to sell you off. Hunter only told you that to get under your skin."

Even though he knew it was a straight-up lie, Dean still almost got suckered into it.

It was that believable.

He didn't like that very much, knowing the truth, especially when Willard smiled like he that was exactly what he wanted to hear, and shifted the conversation back onto charity works. The mood around the table eased up, but that stuck in Dean's ass like a thorn he couldn't reach.

Just the ease with which Roman had lied like that, that wasn't pretty.

Not that Dean was any paragon of virtue and honesty; he'd done his share of dirty shit back in the bad old days, gotten people hurt, and lied his balls off to keep himself and Sami out of trouble. But even so, nothing he did ever felt this _big_. He didn't know the Cesaros at all, but from what he'd seen so far they seemed like pretty decent people - enough this con-job felt shady as hell.

Like if this was the way the business world worked, he wasn't so sure he wanted any part of it.

Roman went back to eating his dinner like it was nothing, but he didn't really look over at Dean at all, busy as he was explaining all the charities Reigns International supported.

Dean only picked at the rest of his food, claiming to be full when Antonio asked him if there was something wrong with it. He let Antonio pull him into a conversation about where to rent bikes in the city and the best places to go riding - most of which he already knew - and tried to just put all the other crap out of his mind.

He was here to do a job.

And he did it

Thanks to Lana's strict teaching, he managed to get through the entire meal without making an idiot out of himself. It was worth the aching knuckles, he guessed, and he made a note to tell her thank you.

That was something, at least, and he did like talking to Antonio, who didn't seem to mind that Dean didn't have a whole lot to offer to the discussion.

The whole thing was pretty low-stress once the dishes for the main course were cleared away and the little dessert plates made their way around the table.

Everyone had one more drink while Seth and Heyman entertained everybody with more weird lawsuit stories.

Then Roman paid the bill, and that was it.

By some unconscious signal, everyone started shuffling to their feet and gathering their things, smiles in place and handshakes again going around.

Antonio extended a hand to Dean and said, "It was really nice to meet you, Dean. You're right: Roman got just as lucky as you did. I hope you enjoy the rest of your vacation."

"You'll see him on Friday," Roman said, clapping Dean's shoulder. "He's caddying for me."

Antonio chuckled at that. "Then you're doubly lucky. I think Natalya would probably castrate me if I asked her to caddy for me. That's my girlfriend," he added to Dean. "Shame she wasn't here. I think she would have enjoyed the company."

"Maybe next time," Roman said. "I doubt this'll be the last time we have dinner."

"Let us hope," Antonio said, glancing over at his grandfather.

Roman shook hands with the elder Cesaro, who said, in his quietly accented way, "Thank you for the lovely evening, Roman. Let me discuss a little more with my grandson and Mr. Heyman, but I'm beginning to think this may be right direction for us. I'm not guaranteeing anything yet, you understand, but I would very much like to have a call with your father to talk about this plan you mentioned."

"Sure thing," Roman said. "When?"

"I'm indisposed tomorrow, but what about Friday morning before we golf? Say eight o'clock?"

"I'll make the arrangements," Roman said. "My dad is on standby for this, so I'm sure that won't be a problem."

They started for the exit, with Antonio and his grandmother following behind.

Dean started to follow them, but a touch on his shoulder drew him up short.

"Hey, hold up a minute," Seth said from beside him.

He'd moved around the table at some point - Dean hadn't even noticed - and now stood at his shoulder. They were about the same height, but Seth was built more stoutly. He had that same sort of muscled look to him Antonio did. Up close that blond patch in his hair seemed even more out-of-place with the dark hair and beard. Objectively a decent-looking guy, but something about him - the smile - made Dean want to back away from him.

"What?" he said instead, not caring if he was being rude. "I gotta catch up."

Seth waved him off. "Roman'll wait. This'll just take a second. Hang on." As soon as the last people were out of the room, he said, "So Roman told me what you really do for a living."

It was like the bottom dropped out of Dean's stomach. "He _what_?"

_No._

_No fucking way._

"Shh, keep it down," Seth said. He looked around, and then leaned in a little. "It's fine. He said you're fucking amazing in the sack. I can tell. He hasn't looked that well-laid since he was with me. All I was gonna say was he's flying out Saturday. I have to stay an extra week to take care of some other business. I wanna hire you for the week. But it won't be like what Roman's doing. I don't need you during the day. I'd just want you at my hotel for a few hours."

As he said this, he gave Dean a long once-over that made him wish he had a lot more clothes on.

 _Layers_ more.

And all Dean could do was stand there, stung, aching fists clenched tight at his sides.

Roman had _told_.

He'd _told_ , and…

"Did Roman put you up to this?" he croaked.

Seth shook his head. "He doesn't even know I'm asking, and really, he doesn't _need_ to know. This is between us. Has nothing to do with him." There was a pause, and, " _Just_ between us, I'm a lot more fun anyway. He's a little boring in bed. Has to top all the time. I don't. I'm flexible. And a lot more adventurous. I think we could have a lot of fun. I'm thinking, what, seventy-five a night should cover it? That's reasonable. We can talk more if I get more out of you.

"And just so we're clear," he went on, " _fun_ is what this is. For him. It's a last blast before he heads back to Florida and settles down.  He's pretty much taken. This guy's a teacher. His dad is on the board of directors at Reigns Inc. They're perfect for each other. Finn has a lot to offer." The _unlike you_ went unspoken, but Dean heard it loud and clear anyway. "Roman's just sowing his wild oats while he can. So am I. You're the one lucky enough to make money off of us." He clapped Dean's shoulder. "I'll see you Friday. We'll talk specifics then."

And he just sauntered right out of the dining room like everything was all settled, like Dean had said okay.

Like Dean wasn't about to say _fuck off_ and _not on your life, asshole_.

Like he wasn't about to point out that he could get sixty bucks for a five-minute backseat bj, and that the hassle of making a trip across the city wasn't worth a lousy seventy-five bucks.

He hurried after Seth, meaning to tell him no, but found the front waiting area too choked with people to even attempt a conversation. Outside, in the evening cool, was a no-go, too. Other people were leaving the restaurant, many of them making their way out into the well-lit parking lot, and others - like Roman, the Heymans, and the Cesaros - standing over by the valet station.

Seth waved to Roman, and bounded off into the parking lot, leaving Dean to slink over to join everybody at the valet station.

 _Yeah,_ he thought sourly, watching Seth go, _great fuckin' night_.

* * *

About the only thing Roman could think as he slid into his Mercedes' driver's seat was: _Thank God that's over with_.

If the way Dean slouched into the passenger seat was any indication, he was feeling the same.

On the one hand, it'd been a complete success: food as fantastic as he remembered, happy dinner guests, and, most importantly, he'd all but closed the sale. The call on Friday was really just a formality. Willard had _that_ look to him when he'd walked out of the dining room; it was the look of a man who'd made up his mind, but wasn't quite ready to admit it. He would on Friday, though, and this would be a much-needed win for the company.

On the other hand, Seth had soured things early on in the evening with his obnoxious paranoia.

Lying to Willard's face in front of Dean hadn't exactly felt good, either.

Even though this looked like it was in the bag, there was no feeling of victory or accomplishment.

Wasn't much feeling at all except the desire to get Dean back to the hotel, peel him out of that suit, and have him out on the deck. It was a nice night for losing himself in some nice slow sex. Just turn everything off and focus on something outside of his own head.

For a while, the ride back to the hotel was quiet, Roman too lost in thought to attempt conversation and Dean staring out the passenger window.

Eventually, though, Roman glanced over. "So that wasn't so bad, huh? You did really well." He had, too. Antonio seemed to have a good time, and that was what counted. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Not really," Dean muttered. He didn't look around. "You told Seth about me. Why?"

Everything in Roman sank like a damn stone thrown in a pond. "He told you?"

"He wants to hire me after you leave," Dean said. His voice was as flat as the window and just as inflectionless. "Seventy-five bucks a night."

"He _what_?" Roman flinched away from the sound of his own voice, the way it boomed in the confined space. Seth was due an ass-kicking. Telling Dean was one thing, but that was about ten steps too far. "You said no, though, right? Tell me you said no."

Dean looked around slowly. "He didn't give me a chance to. Why did you tell him?"

Roman ignored the question again. "Next time you see him, you tell him no. I'll tell him no. You're not doing that."

He loved Seth like a brother, but the thought of the guy - _any_ guy - manhandling Dean, that just made him want to punch somebody in the mouth.

But Dean wasn't having it: "Yeah, you don't get to tell me what to do. If that was something I was interested in doing, I would. I'm not gonna, but that's not your call. You don't fucking own me. You're just paying for a few days, remember? Why the fuck did you even say anything to him?"

 _You don't fucking own me_.

Somehow, Roman sank even more. He didn't think that was possible. "I had to," he admitted. "He saw you and Antonio getting along really well, and he was worried you were a spy for Hunter. Stupid-ass idea. He told me he was gonna go digging into you. If he did that, he'd find out you weren't who I said you were. I had to tell him the truth. He wasn't supposed to say anything - let alone try to…" He sighed. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. I guess I should have warned you."

"Yeah, you should have," Dean said coldly.

"I'll talk to him," Roman said.

"You do that." Dean knocked his knuckles lightly against the window. "I think I wanna just call this off."

" _What?"_   Roman nearly swerved the car onto the wrong side of the road in his alarm.  "What do you mean you want to call this off?"

He wished there was more light so he could properly see Dean's face.  In the near-dark, it was impossible to read his expression.  His voice didn't give away anything.  "I mean you can pay me for the last two days, and then I want to go home.  I don't want to do this anymore."

"Why? Because of Seth?"

"You know how fuckin' uncomfortable it was to sit there and listen to you lie to those people?" Dean asked. "I ain't usually one to judge 'cuz God knows I've been a piece of shit in my life, but Jesus Christ, Roman. They seemed like pretty nice people. Antonio's real excited to take the company over and keep it goin', and here you are just fuckin' bullshttin' em. How the fuck do you lie to them with a straight fuckin' face?"

"I don't like it," Roman said defensively, "but I had to. My competitor called them and that forced my hand. I didn't want it to have to go this way at all. But my dad wants this company, and I have to do what I have to do in order to get this sale."

"And then you're gonna wreck these people's company."

"They'll walk away with a lot of money and the ability to start a new company, if they want."  It was a reasonable answer, and the truth.  "Antonio can go invest in his ideas without carrying around the baggage of a dying company. The reality is a lot more complicated than you think. Even with an injection of a lot of money and Antonio's ideas _and_ a complete change of direction, there's no saving this company." Even as he said that, though, he wasn't so sure. "And 'nice' has nothing to with it. They're nice people, but a lot of times 'nice' is what kills a company.  The people in charge don't have the heart to make the sacrifices necessary to fix things. It's tough. It sucks. I hate having to make decisions like this, and no, I don't like lying to people. I don't like this situation at all. But it is what it is. Anyone else would do the same thing."

Part of him felt like pointing out he shouldn't actually _have_ to justify himself here, since it wasn't really any of Dean's business, but the rest of him hoped honesty would salvage the situation.

He sighed again and eased the car onto the Lightbridge exit. "I know it's not pretty. But that's business. The Cesaros will come out of this just fine."

"Can I believe that?" Dean asked quietly. "You're a good liar."

"Believe that," Roman said firmly.  That stung.  "I'm not lying now. I'm sorry about the bullshit with Seth. That was stupid on my part. I'll call him as soon as we get back to the hotel, all right? And I didn't mean to tell you what to do. I just know how Seth is. You deserve better than how he gets with people. You were great tonight. Thank you."

Dean shifted in his seat. "I didn't do anything."

"Antonio really liked you," Roman pointed out. "Like Paige. He told me he had a great time at dinner talking to you, and that was a big deal. That's what I needed." He paused. "Did you enjoy it at all? The food? Anything?"

"Antonio was nice," Dean said. "I dunno about the food. It was okay."

For Roman, the food had been the best part, all delicate spices and elegant presentation and flavors that fused and melded together in just the right way. He tried not to sound disappointed when he said, "Just okay, huh?"

"Prolly just 'cuz I'm not used to it," Dean shrugged. "I didn't hate it or anything.  Just different, like, tastes than I've had before.  It wasn't _bad_.  Like I said, I just - I guess I'd have to get used to it."

"I guess." The hotel came into view up ahead. "Will you stay? I know tonight wasn't so hot, but… Tomorrow is open for whatever we want to do. Friday will be totally low-key. We're just hanging around the golf course. And like I said, I'll talk to Seth. Make sure he knows to leave you alone."

There was a long pause - long enough for Roman to make it almost all the way to the hotel - before Dean finally answered, "I don't think you understand how much today sucked for me, Roman. Ever since I met you, I've had people tellin' me it's _me_ needin' to 'better myself' for _you_ like you're so fuckin' perfect and I'm nothin' but a sack of shit. You dump a credit card on me and tell me to buy myself somethin' like that's supposed to make me like less of a chump when you just leave me there. This shit at dinner. Seth.  I don't like any of this."

Roman really didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to - this morning, I just… The call was important. But you're right. I should have told you what was going on. I screwed up with Seth. That was bad on my part. And I'm sorry if people have been treating you that way. You deserve better than that. If you tell me who it is, I can talk to them. If it's Tyler and Fandango or someone else, I can talk to them. If that would help. Just tell me what I can do. I really don't want you to leave."

He didn't.

"I think I need to," Dean said, squinting out the windshield. "I ain't in the mood for sex tonight, and no amount of money's gonna get me there."

"So we don't have sex," Roman said. "We could find a movie to watch. That would be fine, too. Tell you the truth, I'm pretty tired myself." He was. It'd been a long day. "I'd rather have your company, anyway."

"Why?"

"Because you're easy to talk to," Roman said. "You have no idea how rare that is with people I'm around. They'd all rather talk. Plus, I like you, Dean. I want to show you that I can treat you the way you should be treated. I know today wasn't a great day, but let me make it up to you. Tomorrow's a day off. We can do whatever we want to. Or we can do nothing. The whole day is open."

There was a long before Dean answered, so long they were halfway up the Kingsford's long driveway when he finally said, "Antonio and them - they're really gonna be okay?"

"They'll be fine," Roman assured him. "I didn't know you cared so much."

"I don't," Dean said. "Not - it ain't about them, exactly. I just don't like seein' people get screwed over.  People lyin' to people."

"Them getting screwed over would be us stealing their company and leaving them broke," Roman said. Hunter's company might pull a stunt like that, but Roman's old man never would. "That's about the opposite of what's going to happen. We'll give their people severance packages, and Antonio and his grandparents will never have to worry about money - ever. They'll be all right."

"Truth?"

"Truth." Roman guided the car up to where Enzo stood waiting. "Will you stay? Please?"

When Dean looked over, it was a little too dark to read his expression. He might have been frowning. But he sighed and said, "Five grand is gonna do me a lot of good. Guess I'd be pretty stupid to walk away now. But I'll deal with Seth myself. I don't need you to do that for me. I still don't want to have sex tonight. So I guess if you wanna pay me a little less, that's fine."

Roman shook his head and patted Dean's leg. "No, you'll get the whole amount. You earned it. I meant it. You were really great tonight. Antonio was right; I did luck out."

"You don't need to kiss my ass," Dean grumbled, but now it sounded like he was smiling a little.

"Maybe I want to," Roman said, trying a smile of his own.

Things still didn't feel fixed, but they felt just a lees _off_ as he and Dean got out of the car.

* * *

Dean said he wanted to talk to Enzo and Becky real quick, and waved Roman on ahead.

Roman was tempted to stay, just to hear what they were all talking about, but decided he'd take the opportunity to call Seth and get everything straightened out. Dean could still handle his own business with Seth, too, but Roman wanted to make it abundantly clear how not-okay it'd been for Seth to try move in here.

( _On my turf_.)

So he said good night first to Enzo, and then to Becky inside, and pulled out his phone on the way to the elevator.

He wasn't actually expecting Seth to pick up, but heard Seth's nasally, "Roman! Thought you'd be busy getting busy right about now!" after the second ring. There was a lot of noise behind him, like he was in a bar or something.

"Cut the shit, Seth," Roman said, glaring at his reflection in the elevator's closed doors. "I told you not to say anything to Dean. What the hell is your problem?"

"Oh, _what_ ," Seth said. Roman could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "C'mon, Rome. Do you blame me? The guy's _hot_ and he looks like he fucks like a champ. You said he did. 'Scuse the hell out of me if I wanted a piece of him after you got done. Better than taking my chances with some club skank."

"You leave him alone," Roman said. The elevator door slid open and he stepped inside, fully expecting the call to drop. "He's off-limits."

The call didn't drop, even after the doors closed. "Yeah, while you're here," Seth said. "After that, it's fair game. It's between me and him - like I told him - so what's the problem? You won't even see him again after Saturday."

Not a reminder he wanted. "He's off-limits, _period_. I don't want you sniffing around him after I leave."

"Not up to you, Rome," Seth said. "He's an adult and I'm an adult. You'll be gone. So it doesn't matter. What are you getting so worked up about? He's a _hooker_. Getting paid to fuck is what he _does_. You think he's not gonna go back to whatever corner he came from after you're done with him?"

Roman made himself take a breath. Not something he wanted to think about. "He told me he was going to tell you no, anyway. Not for seventy-five bucks a night. That's a joke. So you know. I don't think even if you offered more, he'd go for it. Didn't seem very interested in you. So there's that. Leave him the hell alone. Think of this as a favor to your _friend_. For once in your life, stop thinking with your dick."

"Whatever," Seth said. "I got another call coming in. Bye."

He hung up, leaving an annoyed Roman to pull the phone away from his ear.

That didn't bode well.

He'd have to keep an eye on things Friday.

But at least Dean was staying.

What a disaster that would have been.

Alone in the suite, Roman headed back to the bedroom and stripped down for bed, beat tired and beat down.  Low.   _So much for almost closing that sale_.  It was probably good call to nix the sex for tonight; he wasn't even sure he'd be able to get it up right now, not without a lot of help.

He dug around for the TV remote and slid into bed.

Dean made his way in a few minutes later, first ducking into the bathroom and then undressing over by the chair where he'd set his backpack.

"So what was up with Enzo and Becky?" Roman asked.

"Hmm? Oh, uh. Enzo wanted to try some more lyrics on me, I guess. They were okay. I don't really know _all_ that much about John Cena, so I ain't much help. But whatever. Enzo's cool And Becky said her gig went well. One of the labels who was there gave her card and I guess they want to have a meeting. She's excited. She thinks they might get signed."

"That's good," Roman said. "I can't believe I didn't know she had a band."

"Y'gotta talk 'em, I guess. I dunno." Dean dug a worn blue tee shirt out of his bag, and, after he'd stripped off his shirt and tie, slipped it on over his head. He left his underwear, too, and climbed into bed.  "I still wanna go see her play one day.  She said they have another gig here in a couple weeks, so I'll probably go check that out."

"Sounds like fun."  Roman held up an arm.  "C'mere."  When Dean just raised eyebrows at him: "Please?"

He tried not to notice how much Dean looked like he wanted to say no.  'No' never came, though.  Dean just sighed and shifted over until he laying curled up his side, his cheek on the blanket covering Roman's chest.

His shoulders were stiff when Roman closed an arm around them, but he didn't try to pull away.

Roman turned on the TV and brought up the menu.  "What are we watching?"

After a couple pages, Dean's head shot up.  " _Young Frankenstein._   Have you ever seen that?"

"No," Roman admitted.  "I've heard of it."

"It's fucking hilarious," Dean said.  "And it just started.  We're watching it."

"You got it," Roman said, flipping over to what turned out to be a black-and-white movie.

Dean settled back down.  Roman pulled him a little closer.

(You _don't own me._ )

Together they watched what did turn out to be a pretty funny movie, wild and off-beat, and Roman found himself smiling a little every time Dean chuckled at something, the pair of them growing warm and drowsy and comfortable.

Still unsettled, but as an end to the evening, he'd take it.

It was something.


	7. Day Four

" **New Tricks"  
**_VII. Day Four_

The day got off to an earlier start than Roman wanted, thanks to his damn cell phone.

He'd forgotten to shut the ringer off, so when his old man called at five minutes after six - five after nine Florida time - the phone's piercing ring startled him right the hell awake.

Dean, too, if the way he jerked up to sit was any indication.

Groaning, Roman pawed the nightstand beside him for the obnoxious damn thing and managed to hit it just right to shut it up.

Only for it to start ringing again about fifteen seconds later.

"Crap." He dragged the damn thing over to him and, on seeing "Dad" on the caller ID, brought up to his ear. "'Lo?"

The bed shifted beside him as Dean slid off and padded off to the bathroom.

Roman closed his eyes as his old man's too-bright voice drilled into his ear. "Good morning, son. Did I wake you?"

"Yes," Roman grunted.

"What are you still doing in…? Oh. It's early there, isn't it?"

One of these days, maybe, his dad would remember that Florida was three hours ahead of California. "Yeah, Dad." He rolled onto his back and scrubbed a hand over his face. "'S up?"

"I didn't hear from you last night." There were birds squawking in the background. Sounded like Dad was outside somewhere. "How did dinner go?"

"...oh." Between his pity-party and trying to salvage the situation with Dean, he'd forgotten to let his dad know about dinner. "Yeah, 's fine. Good. They want a call with you t'morrow at, uh, at...eleven your time. Eight here. Think we got it about sewn up."

" _Good_!"

Through a yawn, Roman said, "Yeah, but I hadda lie to 'em 'cuz they're still spooked over Hunter. Told 'em we weren't gonna shut 'em down. Don't like lyin' like that. 'S dirty."

"It's business." Same answer he always gave. "Everybody lies to get ahead, Roman."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Roman muttered. "I'm goin' back to bed, Dad. I'm taking a day off today. You need anything, call Tom. I'll call you around ten-thirty your time tomorrow. Say hi to Mom for me."

He hung up that call, and dumped his phone back onto the nightstand, sighing. "God."

Dean emerged from the bathroom and made his way crawled back into bed, stretching himself out on the other set of pillows and tucking his arms behind his head. "Your dad, huh?"

"He still doesn't understand time zones." Roman rolled up onto his side and propped his head up on one hand. "Parents."

"Mm."

"Yours bother you like that?"

"Nope." Dean cleared his throat. "I haven't talked to my mom in a long time, and I don't even know where my dad is. Left a long time ago. Good riddance."

 _Poor kid. Bad neighborhood_. Roman winced. "Sorry to hear that."

"It's fine," Dean said in a voice like a shrug. "They're alive. We're just not, like, close. That's life, y'know? The way it goes. Your dad sounds like a handful."

"He is," Roman admitted, rolling up to his side and propping himself up on an elbow. "I told you how he likes to run my life. His latest thing is he's trying to set me up with this friend of mine. Finn."

"That the teacher?" Dean asked, low and gravelly. "Seth mentioned something about that last night. Said you were practically taken."

Roman nodded. "'S him. But I ain't taken. Thought of dating Finn is like… It'd be like taking your brother to Prom or something. Just - I don't see him that way. He's a hell of a nice guy. Works with special needs kids and he's just as nice as can be, but there's no spark." The hand not under his head stole out and found its way to the worn, soft fabric of Dean's tee shirt, skimming along toward Dean's nipples. "I've told my dad that a thousand times, but he doesn't hear it. Nobody does. In their minds, I'm gay and Finn's gay, and that's all that matters."

"God forbid you actually are attracted to somebody," Dean said. In the dim from the bathroom, Roman could see his eyes narrow, thoughtful. "But you'll wind up goin' out with him anyway, right?"

"Not if I can help it." Roman drew his hand down the flat plane of Dean's stomach - not to start anything, but more to see if it would even be welcome in the first place.

Dean watched through that half-lidded gaze, expression still unreadable. He didn't flinch or try to move away, though, so Roman guessed that was something. "Would you be able to help it, though? Kinda seems like your dad has you marchin' to the beat of his drum."

"He wants me to be, but if I _was_ , I'd be married and have a couple of kids by now. Adopted. He doesn't have a problem with me being gay. He just has a problem with me being single."

"That's stupid," Dean said through a yawn. "'S nothin' wrong with not bein' tied down."

"No, but…" Roman kept rubbing absent slow circles over Dean's stomach, thinking. "I actually do like being in relationships. It's just I get so busy with work and travel that things always seem to fall apart. I'm not around enough or I don't do enough for them. I don't know. Never seems to work out."

He'd just have to stand his ground on the Finn thing.

Rather than answer aloud, Dean freed a hand from behind his head and briefly squeezed Roman's forearm.

Fatigue creeping back over him, Roman scooted closer. "It's too early for this. Let's go back to sleep, huh? We can talk later. C'mere."

He spooned a pliable Dean to his chest and wrapped an arm around him.

It was nice, the way Dean relaxed against him.

Wasn't long at all before Roman was back out like a light.

* * *

When Dean opened his eyes again, daylight filtered in through the gauzy curtains, and he was alone in a room that smelled strongly of bacon and coffee.

_The hell?_

More asleep than awake, he lifted his head and blinked around toward the door, where a freshly-showered Roman was wheeling a full room service cart on in. It had a couple of covered plates, a coffee carafe, mugs and a bunch of other stuff on it Dean was too sleepy-stupid to identify.

All he really noticed was that Roman's little black robe barely covered anything.

Also bacon.

Mostly bacon.

On seeing Dean was awake, Roman smiled. "Mornin'. You don't need to get up yet, if you don't want, but I got us some breakfast if you want it. I'm gonna eat outside. It's nice. When you feel like getting up, we'll figure out what we're gonna do today."

"Mrg," was about all Dean could manage, head flopping back down.

Roman laughed on his way out onto the deck.

Dean closed his eyes and considered going back to sleep, except bacon.

Groaning like a creaky old man, he levered himself up off the bed and went to paw through his bag for a change of clothes.

A cool shower brought him to some semblance of humanity. He didn't feel too bad, other than a mild case of something like road rash on his asscheeks and a mild ache between them. Still better than how he felt most days after a night on the street.

Physically, anyway, he was okay.

Wasn't sure about his head, though, but he could beat himself up about staying - and the sex - later.

In just jeans and a tee shirt, he padded out to the deck and joined Roman at the little table. Roman had his iPad out and a half-finished plate of eggs, bacon, and fruit in front of him. Dean helped himself to a cup of coffee - ignoring Roman's raised eyebrows at the full cup of sugar that went into it - and set his plate of food down.

Roman waited until Dean had eaten half his bacon and one of his eggs to set the iPad down and look over. "So."

Dean swallowed his bite of eggs. "Mm?"

"We have the whole day today," Roman said unnecessarily. "But I thought we should probably talk first."

"About?"

"How you're feeling about last night."

"Not awake enough yet," Dean grumbled, exchanging his fork for his mug. "'Cuz I don't know. I'm still…" He made a vague gesture with his other hand. "'Hey, I need the money,' but 'I don't need the money _that_ bad. Ain't worth it.' That kinda thing. But I'm staying, so."

"Why isn't it worth it?" Roman asked.

"Everything I said last night. Plus…" Dean sat back, took a drink of sugary-sweet coffee, looked up into the sky. "I mean, I don't get why y'gotta lie. Like, if there's no saving the Cesaros' company, why lie about it? Why get their hopes up? That's shitty."

He didn't know why it bothered him so much; it wasn't his problem, and he didn't know these people, but it still felt sleazy as hell. Roman shifted, the deck chair creaking under him. "Yeah, it is, but if we told them the truth, we'd lose the sale."

"And what? Would your company go bankrupt if you didn't get it?"

The pause before Roman answered told Dean everything he needed to know. "No. Our company is profitable. We're financially stable. Nothing would happen if we lost it. My dad's just - we've lost quite a few sales to Hunter Helmsley lately, and he wants to close this one to get us back on track."

"Jesus, Roman."

"Yeah, I know." Roman nudged his plate away. "It looks - I know how it looks. Thing is, if it's not us, it's somebody else. They'll do the same thing. Not that it makes it any better, but… I know. Problem is, it's hard for people to hear their companies are dead weight. They know. They're not blind. But they don't want to hear 'it's not fixable.' If we tell them that, they'll find the next person to promise them the moon, and they'll get screwed over - probably worse. It's a lose-lose. But we'll be fair when comes time. We won't blindside them with it." Troubled gray eyes flicked over to Dean. "I don't like doing things this way, but this is the best we can do."

Dean took a breath, let it go. It was so fucking murky it was making his head hurt. "...yeah."

"For what it's worth, I don't usually do business this way. Most deals are a lot more straightforward. This was just bad all around." He paused again and leaned closer. "I don't want you to think that's me, Dean. It's not."

He was so earnest that Dean really _wanted_ to believe it. That maybe he just caught Roman at a bad time and in a bad situation. Benefit of the doubt, and all. Even if it was naive as hell, it made this easier. "Okay."

"Is it?"

"Yeah." Dean drank more of his coffee, and chased the sugar off his lips with his tongue. _Fuck it_. "Long as you're gonna take care of them."

"We will." Roman sat back and smiled tentatively. "So I have no idea what to do today, but one thing I do want to do is stop by - there's a shop that sells cool tee shirts. I only brought dress shirts with me. I'd rather not wear those with jeans all day, so I want to run down and find something. After that, I don't know if you want to go find something to do, or just hang out here."

"What do you usually do on days off?"

"I don't really get them that often, but usually I was with my, uh, ex. Exes. I was either buying things for the house or going shopping with them. Go to dinner. Maybe meet their friends for a show or something. Most of the time, days off for me are travel days."

"Ah." _Boring_. "There a baseball game in town today?"

"No," Roman said. "I thought about that, but the Giants are in Colorado."

"Bummer." Dean grabbed a piece of bacon and chewed it, thinking, while Roman finished his fruit. Eventually, an idea wormed its way into his head. Kind of dumb, but he threw it out there anyway: "Ever been go-karting?"

Roman's dark eyebrows rose. "Not since I was about eight. Why?"

"'Cuz there's a place me and Sami went a few times when we had the money. It's kind of an arcade. Big go-kart track, lots of games and shit. They got separate tracks for the kids and the adults. It's part of this big, like, plaza where they got bowling and other shit. Oh, and it's - there's a museum a few blocks from there I always wanted to go to. _Ripley's Believe It or Not_? Ever heard of that?"

"Yes, I have. They have a museum here?"

"Yeah. Should all be open today, too. Or there's - I'm sure if we looked around, we could find somebody playing tonight at a bar or a club, if you're into concerts and stuff. They got a great underground music scene here. Or there's places we could just go walk around. Whatever. But if you just wanna hang out and fuck all day, I'd be down for that, too."

He deliberately waited until Roman took a sip of his coffee to say that. Roman spluttered and coughed, laughing right along with Dean, who tipped back in his chair, smug.

Once Roman mopped the mess off his face and off his iPad, he looked over. "What if we did both? Went out and played today, and came back here and messed around this evening? There's a pizza place not far from here that does some really good artisan pizzas. We could do that, hang out, mess around. How's that grab you?"

Dean shoved all of his misgivings and doubts into a little box and threw it all deep into the back of his mind. God knew it'd been forever since he'd had any actual fun. Even with Sami, their supposed "fun days" always revolved around drugs and partying. Which at the time was fine, but didn't cut it anymore.

So he smiled over at Roman, grabbed a strawberry, and popped it into his mouth. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Down in the lobby, Tyler was busy directing his staff while they rearranged the flowers, so Dean and Roman didn't do more than wave on their way out.

Mid-morning outside, warm and a little cloudy, humid.

Not bad, though; Dean had felt fine about leaving his jacket upstairs. Roman hadn't put one on over his dress shirt, either; he'd left it open at the throat. Looked a little odd with jeans and Nikes, but Dean felt a hell of a less underdressed as they walked down toward the row of clothing stores.

When they passed by Regal's shop this time, Roman didn't even spare it a glance.

Dean felt the most irrational urge to run inside and say hello to the stuffy old prick.

_How do you like me now, motherfucker?_

The vintage tee shirt shop Roman took him to was a small, funky little building that felt tiny when they went inside. It was wall-to-wall tee shirts - on tables, on mannequins, on racks, plastered all the way up to the ceiling - and one bored-looking sales dude at the register. They had some cool shit. While Roman digging through some band tee shirts, Dean found an _awesome_ gray one one with Bigfoot riding on the Loch Ness Monster. He also found a red and white Coca-Cola shirt he liked, a Pantera shirt that was white with black sleeves and a black collar, and a cool Deadpool shirt.

But he didn't actually pick them up until Roman looked around from where he was looking at a Metallica tee shirt and said, "Pick a few, if you want," and flicked his chin over to a sign that showed there was a buy four, get one free sale.

Dean ended up grabbing two: the Bigfoot one and the Coca-Cola one. Roman had two in hand himself - a black shirt with a white Superman logo on it, and a gray shirt with a 60s Batman logo on it. At Dean's raised eyebrows, Roman shrugged and said, "I like them both."

He had Dean grab one more shirt, since the fifth one was free, so Dean added the Pantera to his stack at the register with a quiet thanks.

Roman handed the bored clerk his credit card. "I like that Bigfoot one."

"Me too," Dean said, bouncing on his toes beside him. "It's fucking awesome."

"Once we get done shopping, we'll swing back by the hotel and drop everything-"

But of course his stupid cell phone interrupted him, and of course he answered it. "Hey, Tom. What's up?" A pause, and, as he bent down to sign the electronic credit card machine, "No, that's fine. I'm not busy right now, so what do you need?"

"Nice," Dean muttered, snagging the bag off the counter and stalking out of the shop.

It was crowded out, the streets clogged with shoppers and people who apparently had nothing better to do at ten-thirty on a Thursday morning, so he didn't make as much progress back to the hotel as he wanted to by the time Roman caught him. And of course Roman was still on the phone when he clamped a hand on Dean's shoulder and drew him out of the stream of pedestrians and into the shade of a brick building.

Dean slouched against the wall taking bets with himself over how long it'd be before he got a credit card shoved into his hand again.

How long it would be before he'd have to watch Roman walk away.

It was a good five minutes of Roman talking about some files or something, and Dean spent the whole time glaring at the sea of people. Doing his best not to look at Roman. Telling himself to chill out, because it was work and he knew still Roman had to do it - even on a day off.

With a, "If you need anything else, let me know," Roman _finally_ hung up. He slipped his phone into his back pocket. "Sorry about that. My assistant. There was some paperwork he needed to file for me."

"Uh-huh."

Roman eyed him narrowly. "What's the matter?"

"It's not gonna be much fun if you gotta keep stopping to take phone calls all day," Dean said curtly. "It's fucking rude, too. You're not _busy_? Well, hey, it's not like I'm _standing right here_ , am I? If you're gonna take a day off, take a day off. Otherwise, this is a waste of time."

"Rude? It was a _work_ thing-"

"So? You're on a day off."

"Technically, but-"

"No." Dean pushed away from the wall and pulled himself up to his full height so and Roman were eye-to-eye. "If it's a day off, then it needs to be a day off. That means you shut your phone off and you don't work."

"Dean-"

"I'm gonna be pretty pissed if we're in the middle of racing and you stop to take a phone call. And I'm gonna be like _doubly_ pissed off if we're in the middle of _other things_ later, and your phone rings. Any other day, it's work and I don't care. But today I do. Today is supposed to be fun, dammit. Fun is not me standing around like a jackass while you're on the phone."

Miracle of miracles this shit actually seemed to _sink in_ , Roman's expression softening and a smile breaking out. "All right, all right. Don't bite my head off. You're right. I'll text everybody and tell them not to disturb me.  Although I think you just want my attention all on you."

"You're goddamn right I do," Dean said. "You should want to give it all to me."

"I do."

"Then send your text messages, and let's go get changed."

But Roman pointed at the store they were standing in front of. It was the one with all the leather jackets. "Was there anything in there you wanted to take a look at?"

"Not really," Dean said. There was a pretty cool one in the window, he had to admit. It had skulls stitched into the sleeves. But the seven-hundred dollar price tag on it made him shake his head. Sami would probably shit a brick. They could pay rent almost twice over for that much. "My jacket's fine."

"You sure?" Roman turned to look at the store himself. "I told you, you can have more than one. I bet you'd look good in any one of those here."

"I look good in _anything_ ," Dean said. Which was true. The back of his neck felt warm. "Or, y'know, nothing. But it's fine. I don't - you don't need to-"

"Don't even start with that crap today," Roman cut him off. "If I'm taking a day off from work, then you're gonna take a day off from telling me what I do and don't need to do. I'm doing what I want today. Which means buying you something you like."

"None of those jackets are worth seven hundred bucks," Dean protested.

"I have one that cost five grand," Roman said casually. He clapped Dean's shoulder. "Trust me, these aren't that bad. I can tell you want one. You keep eyeballing them. Let's go. And remember what I said: say thank you and enjoy it."

And with that, he pulled Dean into the store.

* * *

Despite the warm temperature outside, Dean wore his new jacket back to the hotel.

It looked, in Roman's opinion, anyway, a hell of a lot better on him than the battered old thing he'd had on over his hoodie when they'd met. Plus, the skulls on the sleeves were pretty bad-ass. He could tell Dean liked it a lot, too, because the whole way back Dean kept looking at his reflection in the windows they passed, trying not to smile. Definitely some extra swagger in his step.

At about ten different points, Roman found himself on the verge of saying 'I told you so,' but decided, for now, to be the bigger man. He just smiled, satisfied he'd gotten that one right.

Back up in the suite, Dean took off the jacket and hung it up while Roman swapped his dress shirt for the black Superman tee shirt. Dean watched him, a wicked gleam in his eye. Roman returned the favor, leering when Dean peeled off his old tee shirt and tugged on the tight-fitting gray Bigfoot shirt.

Whatever tension had been between them this morning appeared to have vaporized, and Roman was glad for it; glad that Dean stayed and that things had settled down.

Now, as he and Dean headed back out of the room, Roman had an extra spring in his step, too.

Hopefully today would be the fun he'd wanted Dean to have yesterday.

Back down in the lobby, Tyler and crew had apparently finished rearranging the lobby. He stood with Fandango and Lana at the desk, the three of them frowning down at something.

Both Tyler and Fandango were wearing flowing white shirts today, for some reason. With Lana in black between them, they looked like a backwards Oreo.

Roman was completely expecting flack for his tee shirt and jeans, and man, neither not one of the folks behind the front desk there disappointed him. All three of them to look up up from whatever they'd been doing, and in a weird near-unison, their eyes narrowed. Tyler's mouth did that tightening thing it always did when he wasn't happy with something.

Cody's mouth did that.

Kind of like a bratty, spoiled child who'd gotten the wrong present for their birthday.

Tyler straightened. "Mr. Reigns, you're not…? Are you actually going out in _public_ like that?"

"Yeah," Roman said, as he and Dean approached the desk. He looked down at his clothes, the jeans and sneakers and tee shirt. "What's wrong with this?"

"It's just so... _unlike_ you," Tyler said. "It's common."

"I wear stuff like that all the time," Dean pointed out.

"That's what I _mean_ ," Tyler said, rolling his eyes. "And you really _shouldn't_ , Donald. Even if you don't have much money, that doesn't mean you can't _try_ to look nice. You have _such_ a nice build, and it's a shame to let it go to waste. Although…" His pale eyes flicked down Dean's chest and back. "At least you picked a shirt that's a good fit this time. Both of you did."

"How was the dinner last night?" Lana asked suddenly, her attention on Dean.

"I didn't embarrass anybody," Dean said, his hands curled tight to his sides. "That was a win. It went pretty good, actually. Everybody seemed to have a good time. Roman was happy. Thanks again."

"You were a good student," Lana said. "A fast learner."

"Tell that to my knuckles," Dean muttered, and Roman for the first time in his life saw Lana crack a smile.

"We're going go-karting," Roman said. "That would be why I'm dressed down. It's a day off. Oh, but Tyler, I was gonna tell you - assuming everything goes through with this sale, I'll have to be back here in probably three weeks. As a thank you for your help with Dean, I'd be willing to schedule in some time to model a few things for you. For your portfolio?"

Fandango nudged Tyler. "I told you."

Tyler's who face lit up brighter than his shirt. "Really?"

"You did a great job with him, so yeah," Roman shrugged. He pretended not to hear Dean's under-the-breath mutter of _you'_ _re gonna regret it._ More than likely he would, but Tyler _had_ done a nice job unasked-for, so a little time was the least Roman could do. "I can give you an afternoon. Would that work?"

"I can make it work," Tyler said in a way that made it clear he absolutely _would_. "I'd just need to know when so I could be ready."

"I'll let you know." Roman knocked on the counter. "We'll see you later. C'mon, Donald."

Dean, the ridiculous idiot, _quacked_ at him.

Roman laughed, feeling lighter than he had in days.

* * *

If the point of the day was to drag Roman completely away from the corporate world and get him to act like a stupid kid, then the whole thing was a wild success.

The F1 Arcade was this enormous two-story building set at the back of a plaza filled with things like a bowling alley, a movie theater, a small strip mall, and three or four restaurants. The whole area smelled like unhealthy food and grease, pizza and burgers and fried chicken, and it made Roman's mouth water. Over the years, he'd expanded his horizons and acquired a taste for the unique kinds of food and carefully-prepared dishes that places like Frais served, but there was always some part of him that couldn't resist the call of a gooey cheeseburger.

But that was for later.

He followed an over-caffeinated Dean into the arcade, and was pleased to find it wasn't busy at all. The place had just opened up, so barely anyone was there.

Dean bounced up to the counter and told the startled attendant up there they wanted three races, explaining to Roman that three races was a good amount of time to spend on the track. One race was too short, but many more than three and, "Your ass is gonna get numb. But we can take a break and go again later, if you want."

Somehow he managed to make that sound really dirty. Maybe it was the leer.

Roman ignored him and passed the kid at the counter his credit card.

The thing he _wasn't_ banking on was that they had to wear head socks and helmets, but the kid at the counter directed them over to another dude who handed them each a white piece of fabric that covered their whole heads other than where the face was cut out of it and pointed out a row of black and red adult helmets lined up on a wall. They were full helmets - clear visors and all.

"You didn't tell me I had to wear one of these," Roman grumbled, thinking about the bun on the back of his head.

"You have to wear a helmet," Dean deadpanned as he tugged the head sock on. "What's the…? Oh, your hair. Just take it down. It's not like anybody's gonna see it. You'll have a helmet on. You can fix it later."

"Easy for you say." But Roman pulled his hair tie out anyway, shook his hair back, and pulled the head sock on. "The things I'm doing for you today."

Dean immediately burst out laughing.

Roman narrowed his eyes. "What's so funny?"

"You look like a giant sperm."

"So do you, jackass," Roman retorted.

"Nuh-uh." Dean tugged his helmet on and strapped it under his chin. "I look _bad-ass_."

Rolling his eyes, Roman pulled his own helmet on. "No, you look like a jackass."

"A bad-ass jackass, then," Dean said, although it came out a little muffled. "I'll take it. You look pretty bad-ass, too. Now let's go race."

To Roman's immense relief the black-and-red flamed go-karts weren't that small. He'd been half-afraid he'd have to wedge himself into something that felt like a tiny clown car, but other than his legs being a little too long, it really wasn't that bad a fit. He had enough room between his chest and the steering wheel not to feel too crushed in, and everything was fairly comfortable to reach.

The kart had some zip to it, too, jumping like it couldn't wait to fly around the track when he eased it up to to the starting area.

Nobody else showed up by the time Dean and Roman were ready to go, so they had the entire track to themselves. That rocked. It was this huge open space with a track was more like a slightly twisted rubber bland than an actual oval. Both sides of the track were flanked by low gray walls with red and white checkers all over them.

The visor on Roman's helmet was a little scuffed, and he'd already started to sweat along his hairline - damn headsock was skintight and a little claustrophobic - but as soon as he stepped on the accelerator and started driving that first lap, he forgot all about any discomfort.

Nice quick little kart, and _man_ , was it just a blast to open it up and speed straight into a curve.

There was heavy rubber skirting around the wheels, too, which made them almost like bumper cars - and also made them a hell of a lot more fun.

Not that Roman deliberately ran into Dean or tried to push him into the wall or anything.

That would have been immature.

If he did, it was only because Dean did it first, deliberately - in Roman's opinion - taking a turn too wide and squeezing Roman's kart into the wall.

Even over the noise, Roman wore he could hear that jackass laughing.

It was _on_.

All twelve laps of the race went by in a blur, with the two of them pushing and shoving their karts together, neither one quite able to get out ahead of the other. Or maybe they weren't trying. It was more fun to push and shove their way down the empty track together. Technically, they weren't _supposed_ to do that, probably, but Roman didn't care. It was a blast to veer over and bump into Dean and try to avoid getting bumped back into return.

But as they drove around the last corner of the track and sped toward the finish, Roman found a little extra speed and edged Dean out at the end. Not by much - maybe half a second - but it was enough.

He pulled the car to a stop where the track attendant indicated, and flung an arm up in victory, laughing when Dean shot him the bird.

"I let you win!" Dean called, his voice muffled inside his helmet.

"What's that?" Roman called back. "I couldn't hear you over the sound of my victory."

Dean nudged to a stop in the space beside him and flipped open the helmet's face shield. His eyes were bright, sparkling, and very, very blue. "Yeah, yeah, fucker. You're gonna eat my dust this time around. I was just playing with you that race. _Toying_ with you."

Roman chuckled and eased his own face shield up. "We'll see about that."

They had to wait a couple minutes because four other people had shown up to race, but that was fine.

Before he knew it, it was time to floor it and race again - for real this time.

It was different racing in a pack than it had been with just the two of them. These people really wanted to _race_ , so they didn't screw around, bumping both Dean and Roman out of their way within two turns and zooming on ahead.

As they headed down a straight stretch, Dean glanced over at Roman like, _We gonna stand for this shit_?

Roman shook his head. _Hell no_.

They both floored it and zoomed to catch up with the wannabe racers. Roman bumped one into a wall, and shot past him while Dean did the same on the opposite side of the track. That left two behind them and two a ways in front of them. Roman was bound and determined not to let those suckers beat him and Dean, so he sped up as much as he dared going into a corner and floored it coming out. Dean was right with him, the nose of his car pulling out just ahead.

It took a good couple laps, but eventually Roman and Dean found themselves riding the bumpers of the karts ahead of them. Dean moved first, speeding ahead to squeeze past one of the two leaders. Roman veered wide and move past himself as Dean opened it up and raced to catch the first kart.

That came down to the last lap.

Dean finally managed to cut to the inside on the second-to-last corner and sneak past. Roman followed, zooming right into the gap and finishing the race in second place.

Once again, they pulled to a stop where the track attendant directed them, side-by-side, and Dean started doing some kind of celebratory wiggle - Roman refused to call it a dance - behind the wheel.

 _Idiot_ , Roman thought with a smile.

* * *

They ran one more race after that, but with eight karts on the track, it was a little harder maneuver, so Dean and Roman ended up drifting to the back of the pack and messing around, bumping and jostling each other and not taking it seriously. The whole time, Roman just had the biggest smile on his face, even when he got jostled into a wall a little harder than he felt like he should have. The smile got even bigger when he got Dean back for it, ramming Dean's ass end about as hard as he could.

 _I'm gonna get you later_.

It was a hell of a lot of fun.

By the end of that set of laps, his ass was getting numb and his knees were getting a little sore from the way he was sitting. He'd only paid for three races anyway, so he and Dean parked their karts where they were told to, and went to go return their helmets and everything to the dudes at the counter.

Roman had to make a quick trip to the bathroom to deal with the sweaty, matted mess that his hair had become. Wasn't much he could do about it but pour some water on it and pull it back up into a messy bun. Could have looked worse, he guessed.

Dean wasn't downstairs in the go-kart area anymore when Roman finished in the bathroom.

He ended up wandering upstairs into the actual arcade, which, save for a couple kids at one trying to get a football out of one of those grip-claw machines, was mostly empty. The only other person up there was Dean, who sat over at a table near the concessions counter, two fountain soda cups and a huge mound of chili cheese fries in front of him.

The sight those fries of had Roman's arteries just cringing, but he took the empty fountain cup anyway and proceeded to go to the soda fountain for a Coke. Nor did he protest when, after he sat down at the table, Dean nudged the tray into the middle of the table and passed over some napkins.

"Dig in."

"You're a terrible influence," Roman said, helping himself one of the hot, gooey fries. They were better than they had any right to be. "But thank you."

"'Course I am." Dean said. With his hair all messy, color in his cheeks, and his eyes still bright, he looked _young_. "Holy shit, that was fun. But I think you bruised my tailbone when you hit my ass back there."

"Yeah, that was blast," Roman chuckled, swallowing a fry. He chased the salt with soda. "Want me to kiss it better later?"

Dean shoved about five fries into his mouth all at once. "Mm-hmm. You be'er."

Roman wrinkled his nose. "Sick, man."

But even so, he had the _stupidest_ urge to wipe the little smear of cheese off of Dean's lower lip. Thankfully, he did not give into this urge. He did, however, eat _way_ too many of the fries, which were addicting in that horrible _I hate myself but oh God I can't stop eating this crap_ kind of way.

They didn't talk much while they ate; instead, Dean looked around at all the games, while Roman was just content to sit back and bask in the leftover adrenaline buzz from the go-karting.

Afterward, hyper all over again, Dean bounced over to throw away the empty tray. When he came back, he was all sly dimples and cocksure confidence. "'kay, c'mon. Time for me to beat your ass at air hockey."

Chuckling, Roman rolled out of his chair. The fries settled like a bowling ball in his gut, but he matched Deans' cocky smile with one of his own. "That so? I had an air hockey table when I was a kid. Think it's you gonna be takin' that ass whoopin'."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Oh, it's on."

And so it was.

Something Roman learned quickly was that Dean was competitive as hell and not above playing dirty.

As they kept trying to angle the air hockey puck past each other, Dean started talking about wrestling, bouncing from New Japan to WWE to Lucha Underground to old British wrestling as often as the puck changed directions. But at one point, he glanced up, stopped what he was saying about Ric Flair, and said, "You got something on your shirt, Roman."

When Roman looked down, Dean shot the puck straight into the goal.

There was nothing on Roman's shirt.

Roman could only shake his head as he retrieved the puck. "Cheater."

"All's fair," Dean said from the other end of the table without a scrap of remorse. His dimples were blinding.

"Don't make me come over there," Roman said, failing miserably to suppress a smile of his own.

He couldn't decide if he wanted to kick Dean's ass at air hockey here or bend him over the table more.

Unfortunately, his only option was to beat his ass at the game, and he proceeded to do that. Dean had quick hands and an unpredictable playing style (liked to try fake shots a lot), but Roman still managed to play the angles just right, using speed and power shots to muscle the puck into the goal. Without cheating. They matched up pretty well, but Roman was just a little better, winning the first two games by a goal each. He lost the last game, fingers getting a little tired, but by then it didn't even matter.

He'd made his point.

"What were you saying about beating my ass at air hockey, Dean?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

Dean rolled his eyes and tossed the pusher away. "I didn't wanna embarrass you, is all."

"You just don't wanna admit you got _beat_ ," Roman snorted, setting his own down.

"Ah, kiss my ass," Dean said. He was sulking. The word 'cute' bubbled up through Roman's mind, and he squashed that quick. "And get some more quarters. Let's play _Mortal Kombat._ "

"Pushy," Roman said, but he obliged anyway, feeding a twenty into the change machine and walking away with a double-handful of quarters.

There were more people in the arcade by then, mostly teenagers and younger, hovering around the newer racing games and some loud dancing games Roman knew he'd look ridiculous trying. But old school _Mortal Kombat_ \- back in kind of a neglected corner of the arcade - was more his speed.

But even that turned into the two of them trying to one-up each other, pushing and jostling each other away from the game controls and laughing like a couple of dumb-asses while they did it. Dean was honestly a lot better at the game than Roman was. Roman hadn't played since he was probably ten. His old man hadn't let him have a video game system in the house because they were a distraction, so the only times he ever got to play was when he went to friends' houses. He'd never acquired the skills like a lot of his friends did.

In this case, cheating kept the game even.

They both did it, shoving each other's hands away from the controls and bumping shoulders. Roman upped it by sneaking a look around and then darting in to twist Dean's nipple. Dean yelped and elbowed Roman in the side. And when Roman was least expecting it, Dean's hand left the video game's joystick and found its way down to _Roman's_ joystick and _squeezed_.

Roman stepped back in mortified alarm just in time for Dean's Scorpion to uppercut Roman's Sub-Zero to death, the cheating prick.

Nobody was around, but _even so_ , Roman punched Dean's arm for that one.

Dean rubbed his shoulder, mock-wounded. "Ow!"

"That was the _wrong_ joystick," Roman said, looming. "We're in public."

"My hand slipped," Dean said like he couldn't have cared less. "Kinda. I mean, y'know. Kinda like playin' with _that_ joystick, but, like, it _slipped_. C'mon. Let's play."

"Keep your damn hands above the waist," Roman warned him, "or maybe when we get back to the hotel, you just sit there and watch me play with my joystick and I don't let you play with yours."

"Ohhhh," Dean said, shoving Roman's shoulder. "Fightin' dirty, huh? I like it. All right, fine. But if I gotta keep my hands off your joystick, you better _your_ hands off my buttons. No purple nurples."

"That's fair," Roman said agreeably.

They played until all the quarters ran out, Dean managing to win most of the matches even without cheating. With cheating, Roman managed to sneak a few wins in here and there, thanks to a strategically-timed wet willie and shoving Dean's hands away from the controls.

Neither one of them stopped laughing the whole time.

Every so often, they'd just look at each other and crack up again.

They were _both_ idiots.

* * *

After another hour so of feeding quarters into the _Mortal Kombat_ machine, they started coming down off their buzz, so Dean suggested they head out and go walk around for a bit.

So they wandered aimlessly through the big plaza for a while, drifting in and out of the crowds to look at some of the stuff in the stores. Wasn't anything all that interesting, and neither of them really said much. Outside of Dean talking a little more wrestling, they really hadn't said a whole lot at the arcade, either. They'd been too busy goofing around.

Having fun.

They wandered off past the plaza and onto a more downtown-type street, one that was wide and flanked by huge buildings on both sides. Dean seemed to have a destination in mind, and Roman was content to follow along. Sidewalks were pretty full of people, so Dean stuck close to Roman's side. And once again, Roman found himself fighting off that urge to reach over and grab Dean's hand.

Still not appropriate.

But he still wanted to.

A couple blocks down and around a corner, Roman clued into exactly where Dean was taking them: the _Ripley's_ museum he'd mentioned earlier.

Which actually turned out to be pretty cool.

He wasn't really sure what to expect inside, but what he found was a whole variety of stuff, from huge piece of matchstick art - ships, rockets, and trains - to shrunken heads to giant people to a giant Hummer made out of playing cards to faces carved out of phone books and everything in between. It was just kind of about the strange things people _made_ or _did_ , and it was actually interesting as hell.

Because: _why_?

Why would somebody construct a life-size Hummer out of playing cards?

Probably Roman's favorite part as he and Dean wandered through the place was just how _into_ it Dean was. He paused by every exhibit to read the plaque. "I just love shit like this," he said as he he and Roman moved away from the exhibit with a three-legged man. "Like, all the weird shit out there - the Bigfoots and the shit people do, that's just - it's just…"

"Interesting?" Roman guessed.

Dean nodded. "Big-time. Like, I always wonder what else is out there that we don't know about. I know people always talk about the universe, but there's still places on _this_ planet we don't know that well. So it's like, yeah, this is all cool, but what's out there and _way_ out there we haven't found yet?" He paused right beside the statute of the world's tallest man, and looked up. "Holy shit."

Roman looked up himself. "Makes you feel tiny."

"No kidding. Can you imagine trying to fit into a house being that tall?"

"Or trying to find clothes," Roman said.

"You'd need about five cotton fields' worth of fabric."

And on it went, this gentle, easy back-and-forth between them, and at some point it occurred to Roman that this was _Dean_ he was with - not the prostitute he'd picked up and paid for, not the guy who'd dressed up in a sharp suit, but the person Dean was outside of all that.

The real Dean: a guy who interrupted his own monologue about yetis to " _Holy cow_!" over a two-headed calf, and who stopped talking about the Chupacabra to make a blowjob joke near the shrunken heads, and who, after they walked away from the statute of the world's tallest man, idly mused aloud, "How _big_ do you think he was? You know, his dic-"

" _Dean_ ," Roman cut him off. There were _people_ around.

"What?" Dean said, wandering toward one of the many matchstick art pieces. "It's a legit question. Probably too big for anyone to take comfortably, I bet. He'd have ripped somebody open."

Roman elbowed him and shot the young couple they passed an apologetic look. "Probably."

Oblivious, Dean rambled right on. "How funny would it be if he was actually really tiny, though? You got this eight-foot-plus dude with a three-inch d-"

" _Hey_." Roman didn't bother to hide his exasperation as he joined Dean at the exhibit.

Dean glanced around and it finally seemed to click there were other people nearby. "With a with a three-inch dick," he went on anyway. "How hilarious would that be?"

"Hilarious," Roman said dryly. "Can we maybe not talk about that in public?"

"It's a legitimate question," Dean insisted.

"It is, and I think he was probably proportional, but we can talk about later. Back at the hotel. In _private_." Roman pointed at the matchstick airplane. "How many matches do you think they used to make that?"

"Spoilsport," Dean muttered, but he looked in the direction Roman was pointing anyway, a smile giving lie to the word.

Roman chuckled quietly and clapped Dean's shoulder again. "Why do you think people would even do this with matchsticks, anyway?"

"Because they can?" Dean shrugged, but not enough to dislodge Roman's hand. He shifted a little closer, if anything. "It's like those pictures people make out of tiny pictures of other things, isn't it? Or mosaics? Because they can."

"Or I guess why people do anything, huh?" Roman mused. "Climb a tall building or a mountain? Because it's there and they can."

"Exactly."

They walked on, and it also occurred to Roman that this was probably the most relaxed he'd been in years. For once, an outing wasn't hinging on him being able to provide entertainment or make all the decisions. It was nice to be able to kick back and go with the flow for once, to laugh at Dean's silly jokes and to just kind of enjoy himself in the same worry-free way he'd done at the go-kart track.

To just _be_ himself, free of the polished businessman he was every other day of the week.

Of course, the problem with Dean standing so close to him and bumping into him and smiling at him the entire time was that _other thoughts_ began creeping in. _Want._ He watched Dean bend over to look at something, and immediately his eyes went to Dean's ass, taking in the way the worn denim stretched over it and his tee shirt rode up just enough to expose the black band of his underwear.

When Dean stood up, he grinned slyly like he knew exactly where Roman had been looking.

Somehow, he _just-so-happened_ to accidentally brush front of Roman's jeans. And his ass. Twice.

So maybe the _want_ was mutual.

Roman felt practically giddy.

And toward the end of their tour of the museum, the jokes became more blatantly sexual and the looks they exchanged became more heated. They stood even closer, Roman's fingers sneaking out often to steal touches. It took him a hell of a lot of willpower not to back Dean up against a wall and not start going to town on him.

As they finished up the tour, Roman touched the back of Dean's hand and said into his ear, "You mind if we head back to the hotel?"

Dean shuddered and muttered back, "Only if I get to play with your joystick."

"That's the idea," Roman answered smoothly. "And if you're real good, I'll play with yours, too."

He laughed again at the way Dean's Adam's apple bobbed. "...shit. Let's go."

"Good answer."

It really was.

* * *

It seemed to take forever to get back to the hotel, and Roman spent the entire ride in a haze of _move outta my way_ and _I want him_ and also trying to keep Dean's wandering hands from causing a wreck.

Because Dean apparently didn't want to wait to play with Roman's joystick.

He spent part of the drive slowly rubbing his palm over the front of Roman's jeans, laughing like an absolute asshole at the frustrated, pained noises Roman made when he got hard and couldn't do anything about it.

"You're gonna pay for this," Roman warned him. It was all he could do to keep himself from bucking up to get more friction. If he'd done that, he probably would have accidentally floored the car and hit somebody.

"Am I?" Dean asked, rubbing away. He sounded completely unconcerned.

"Dean." A growled warning.

The rubbing slowed. "You ever been fucked before?"

It took Roman's lust-fogged brain a second to process the question. "No. Why?"

"I dunno." Dean withdrew his hand. Roman almost wanted to snap at him to put it back until the sensible part of himself remembered he was driving. "You ever thought about it?"

As he adjusted his jeans to try to alleviate the pressure on his dick, Roman said, "Not really. Guys I've been with, they always wanted me on top. They liked me to take care of them. Never really came up. So to speak."

A brief flick of a smile. Dean leaned against the passenger door, eyes narrowing. "What if it _had_ come up? Would you have done it if they'd asked?"

"Maybe?" Roman shifted again. "I never thought about it, but if they'd asked? I probably would have."

If it'd made them happy, he was sure he would have at least tried it.

"What if I asked?"

Roman eased the car to a stop at a red light and glanced over, startled. "You want to…?"

"You got a great ass, man," Dean said. "It'd be a shame to let that go to waste. I mean, obviously that's your call, and I'm not gonna be pissed if you say no or anything, but yeah. I would totally be up for that."

"Do you top much?"

"Once in a while at work, and most of the time when I'm not working, yeah," Dean said. "I don't like to _just_ bottom with somebody. I'd rather either top or switch. Mostly I top. But," he added, "this is work, so, again, if you're just wanna top me that's fine. I'm cool with that. Just - like I said, you got a great ass, and I'd be all over a chance to show you how good it can feel."

Something in Roman actually shuddered a little at that, this weird little thrill that left him hot and cold all over. He cleared his throat. "Let me think about it, all right? I'd - there's something else I'd rather do when we get back to the hotel…"

"Yeah, me," Dean said, chuckling. "You want to do _me_. 'S fine."

His hand found its way to the front of Roman's jeans again and squeezed.

Roman groaned.

He had to make Dean stop again once the hotel came into view.

Last thing he wanted was to walk through the lobby with a raging hard-on.

Thankfully, Lana was the only one at the desk, and she was busy helping a couple while one of the bellhops stood by with a loaded luggage cart. Roman and Dean blew past them all, marching through the quiet lobby and making a beeline for the elevators.

The second the suite's door shut behind them, it was on.

Roman shoved Dean back against it and slipped his thigh between Dean's legs. One quick motion stripped Dean's tee shirt off, and Roman grabbed both of Dean's wrists, pinning them above his head. Then he dipped down to suck a couple of hard marks right above Dean's collarbone.

" _Fuck_ ," Dean muttered.

"Yeah," Roman said, and _man_ , he wanted nothing more than to kiss Dean right about then, to just take that mouth and plunder it breathless, but he had to settle for kissing other parts of Dean instead, fast and frantic along his jaw and the sides of his neck. And while he did that, he pressed his thigh up into the fork of Dean's crotch, tight to his balls, thoroughly keeping him pinned into place.

The hand not holding Dean's wrists slicked down Dean's stomach and clumsily popped the button on Dean's jeans. He pushed the zipper down and rubbed Dean's stiffening dick over his underwear. Dean rolled his hips into Roman's touch, cursing again.

Roman worked Dean's dick over until he had Dean panting, flushed, and arching up to get more friction. His hips rolled faster and faster into Roman's palm. " _Shit_."

"Getting close?" Roman asked.

"...yeah," Dean said. "I'm - yeah, fuck."

"Good." With a smug, wicked smile, Roman let go all at once and backed away a few steps.

Dean sagged back against the door, hand slapping down to keep himself upright. He looked a little wrecked already, hickeys blooming on his chest and his eyes all hazed over. "Oh, fuck you," he muttered, hand cupping his hard-on. "Fucker."

"I told you were gonna pay," Roman chuckled, turning to head for the bedroom. "Get the rest of your clothes off and wait right there. I'll be back in a second."

After a quick pitstop in the restroom, Roman stripped down to his underwear and freed a condom and the lube from Dean's backpack.

When he made it out into the living area, he found Dean not waiting by the door, but perched butt-ass naked on the the bar stools, idly stroking himself.

"That's not where I told you to wait," he said, setting everything down on the bar.

Dean flicked his thumb over the head of his dick, and met Roman's gaze, a challenge in his eyes. The same challenge that had been there since the arcade. "Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?"

Roman raised eyebrows at that, a slow smile of his own tugging at his mouth. He reached for Dean's wrist and pulled him down to the floor, spun him around, bent him over the stool. There was not a hint of resistance as he nudged Dean's feet a little wider.

He ran one big hand along the curve of Dean's ass, and then drew it back to lay a firm, sharp smack across one of Dean's bare asscheeks - just hard enough to raise a little color in it.

Dean's head snapped up; Roman held his breath, concerned he'd gone too far. But all Dean did was look around over a shoulder, that challenge still in his eyes, and ask, "That all you got?"

Roman smacked the other asscheek, a stern reprimand that actually made Dean grunt. It left a nice red print right in the middle. "I don't think I told you could talk."

"Aw, kiss my ass," Dean grumbled, a smile in his voice. He folded his arms on the stool and rested his forehead on them, swayed his butt a little. "You can do better."

The third and fourth slaps made Dean grunt.

The next two pulled quiet groans out of him.

Roman smiled - _somebody likes this_ \- and kept it up, alternating slaps to each side of Dean's ass until the whole thing was glowing red and hot to the touch, until Dean's body looked more like taffy than anything, until Roman himself was just as hard as Dean was.

Just as ready.

With one last ringing slap, he bent to kiss his way along the ridges of Dean's spine, pausing at Dean's tailbone, and finally dipping lower to press a kiss to each one of Dean's fever-warm cheeks.

"Better?" he asked, chuckling.

Dean only managed some kind of garbled noise - "Mhgn" - like had this morning. When he lifted his face off of his forearms, it was just as just as red as his butt, and his eyes were glazed over.

Still laughing, Roman led a clumsy Dean over to the couch and guided him down onto his hands and knees on one end of it. Dean took the hint and propped himself up on the couch's arm, knees spread wide. Roman climbed onto the couch right behind him, the lube in hand.

Despite his dick - and his brain - yelling at him to _get in, get in_ , Roman took his time with the prep, running slick a fingertip around Dean's rim and easing his way in.

"That's right," he murmured right into Dean's ear. "Ride 'em. Open up for me, b-uh, Dean. Open right up."

 _Babe_.

Dean obliged, rocking down and back up until he was fucking himself on first two, and then three of Roman's fingers, forearms braced on the couch's arm, his head down, hair just messy comms over his eyes, and his mouth loose. Quiet.

Sexy as hell, the way he was so into it.

He actually whined in his throat when Roman pulled his fingers out. "Easy," Roman said, tongue flicking out to lick at soft hollow behind Dean's jaw. "You ready for me now?"

"...uh-huh."

"Ask me for it, then. Ask me for what you want. Tell me how much you want this dick."

But instead of moaning out how he much he wanted Roman's dick, Dean froze up, body tensing.

Roman sat back immediately. "Dean?"

It was a good five or so seconds before Dean shook his head. He looked around, unreadable all over again. "Sorry. Lotta the guys on the street make me do shit like that. 'Tell me how bad you wanna suck this.' 'How bad do you want this dick, bitch?' Shit like that. I hate it. It's cheap. Like some kinda shitty power trip or something. Total fuckin' lie. I dunno. I guess I _will_ if you really want me to, but-"

"If it makes you uncomfortable, then we don't do it," Roman said over him. He laid a reassuring hand on Dean's hip. "We're both gonna enjoy this. It's fine, Dean. I'm glad you told me. Do we need to stop?"

"No." Dean faced forward and lowered his head back down onto his arms. "I'm good. Thanks."

Roman leaned forward again and kissed his way up Dean's back until he reached that same soft hollow behind Dean's jaw. "Anytime you don't like something, Dean, you let me know, all right? Don't apologize."

"'kay." Dean shifted his knees a little wider. "'M ready for ya, if y'wanna…"

"I do." Roman grabbed the condom and the lube off the table, and made quick work of getting himself wrapped up and slick and positioned on Dean's hole. Dean's asscheeks were still nice and red, and Roman used the hand not guiding his dick in to give one of them another light slap.

Dean lowered his head down to his forearms and hummed. It was a very nice sound.

And Dean took him in as easy as anything, just a steady slide until Roman was _there_ , fully surrounded in all that tight warmth. "God, you feel good."

He shifted around on his knees to get himself more comfortable and leaned over Dean's back, hands on Dean's shoulders and his nose in Dean's hair.

They both started moving at the same time, Roman pulling back nice and slow as Dean slid forward, and the two of them meeting back up with a quiet clap over and over again while the couch creaked under them. Roman closed his eyes and just let himself get lost in it, the steady rhythm of it all, the way Dean felt moving under and around him, and the ragged sounds of their breathing.

By some unconscious signal, they both picked up the pace, Dean muttering something that sounded like, "Harder," as he ground down on Roman's cock. They hit together, the sound a quick staccato beat in an otherwise quiet room, and Roman felt himself sailing right up to that edge way too fast.

But he didn't fight it. He buried his nose in the hair at the back of Dean's neck and rocked and rolled until he was _there_ , groaning his way through it.

He stayed sagged over Dean's back for a few seconds to catch his breath, and then shifted them both back just a little so he could reach underneath for Dean's still-hard dick. Eyes closed, he brought Dean off, too, stroking him slow and steady until Dean muttered, " _Fuck_ , Roman," and spilled all over the couch.

(Which was probably not the _best_ idea, even if it was leather, but Roman couldn't be bothered to give a crap. He'd buy them a new one if he had to.)

Afterward, after they'd both had a chance to cool off a little, Roman eased himself back and sat down, slipping the condom off and pinching it between a couple of fingers. Dean unfolded himself from off the couch's arm and slumped down beside him, heavy-limbed and red-faced and out of it. More a slug than a man.

 _I did that,_ Roman thought, tired and smug.

He looked at Dean and Dean looked at him, and neither of them said anything, but all Roman could think about right then was how much he hated that damn no kissing rule. If there was a time to do, now was it, with Dean soft-eyed and smiling an odd little smile and Roman's stomach knotting up.

And when Roman pushed himself away from the couch to go throw the condom away, he felt like he might be in trouble here.


	8. Night Four

" **New Tricks"  
**_VIII. Night Four_

If the art gallery was a surprise, the day out at the arcade and the museum was as fucking revelation.

In the arcade, after he'd gotten his ass kicked for the second straight time at air hockey, Dean had looked across the table at Roman and he'd seen a guy having a great fucking time. It was in the big smile, warm gray eyes and the complete lack of the tension that had been pulling Roman tight from the very beginning. In jeans and a tee shirt, he even _stood_ differently: in his suit, he just radiated authority, like he was a dude in charge and _knew it_ ; out of the suit, he was still confident, but he seemed a lot less unapproachable.

Dean had unthinkingly called Roman "fucker" like he would Sami when they were goofing around, something he wouldn't have done with Roman all dressed up and polished for work.

Smooth.

Jeans-and-tee-shirt Roman was still smooth - _fuck_ , his ass looked good in them - but he'd been more easygoing than Dean expected, not even batting an eyelash at being called "fucker". If anything, he seemed to enjoy it, falling into this push-and-shove with Dean that had felt easy and, like, _normal_.

Like it was something they'd been doing for a long time.

Dean honestly didn't know why he'd expected things to be awkward. Maybe just thought a dude as rich as Roman would turn his nose up at something like driving grown-up bumper cars around an indoor track and playing video games. Or maybe he thought Roman would think a place like the _Ripley's_ museum was dumb instead of as interesting as he seemed to find it. Or maybe he just thought, since he felt so uncomfortable in up Roman's world, Roman might feel uncomfortable down in his.

That smile Roman wore the whole time he was following Dean around said that wasn't the case.

At all.

As they'd wandered around the museum, Dean remembered thinking, _Shit, he's actually liking this_ , and being relieved because he was having a fucking blast himself looking at everything there - all the weird and cool shit people did. It would've sucked if Roman had been bored or not enjoying himself.

But they both did, and at various points, Dean caught himself sneaking looks over and admiring the tight line of Roman's tee shirt, the way it didn't hide much. The curve of his ass in his jeans. The way he managed to stand out, even when he was dressed down.

The thought of dragging Roman off to the bathroom at the arcade for a quick blowjob had crossed his mind on more than one occasion.

At the museum, when he'd caught Roman staring at his ass, the temptation had been almost overwhelming.

By the time they'd made it back to the hotel, he was so turned on he could hardly keep his hands to himself.

Pushing Roman's buttons a little bit was even more fun.

It was almost embarrassing how horny it'd made him to get his ass smacked just now, and there was a part of him shaking its head at that, like _What the fuck is_ wrong _with you, letting him do that_?

The rest of him was buzzing too hard from it to care.

Embarrassing or not, he felt fucking great, mellow and quiet-minded, cruising. It felt like some knot he'd had in him had come untangled and he could actually relax.

As he sat there looking at an equally fucked-out Roman - man, his hair was just _all over_ the place, like an out-of-control lion's mane - he caught himself staring at Roman's mouth and wondering-

_No._

It was a fucking relief when Roman got up and went to throw away the condom.

After all that bullshit last night, after everyone here treating him like he was a dog turd they'd stepped in, the last - _the last_ \- fucking thing he needed to be wondering was what it would be like to kiss this guy.

The rules was there for a reason.

This was a job, and he did not kiss on jobs - ever.

Especially guys who threw a wad of cold, wet paper towels into his lap and said, "Here. Clean up your mess."

"You made it," Dean grumbled, peeling the towels off himself. "Dick."

"It came from _your_ dick," Roman replied. It appeared he was gathering up Dean's clothes, bending over to give Dean a spectacular full-moon view of his ass. Dean's dick was too dead to twitch, but his mouth sure watered. "Hurry before it starts drying. I'd really rather not have to explain that. Or buy them a new couch."

Dean huffed. "I'm _busy_."

Roman straightened, turned around, Dean's jeans hanging from his hands. "With _what_?"

"Watchin' you parade around all your naked glory. Bend over again."

Gray eyes narrowed at him. "Clean up the couch first."

He stood there like a stubborn asshole, eyebrows raised, and Dean sighed again, mock-annoyed. " _Fine_."

With a lot of effort, Dean forced his unwilling body into a semblance of actual purposeful movement and wiped the couch down as best he could. Seemed to come off - _ha_ \- okay, although he actually had to _stand up_ and walk over to the bar to get more paper towels. And soap. It was fucking ridiculous. His bones felt about as strong as Jell-o, and his muscles were like melted taffy. All he wanted to do right now was puddle on the couch and stare at Roman's naked body with its nice ass and muscles and nicely-muscled ass, but _oh no_ , no, he had to play maid.

After he threw the wad of paper towels away, he melted back onto the couch and flapped a hand at Roman, who'd watched the whole thing with this stupid smug-asshole smile that Dean in no way wanted to kiss off of Roman's fucking stupid handsome face.

Did. Not.

Punch it off, maybe, but not-

 _Stop that_.

"Gimme my show," he demanded, mostly to distract himself.

"Pushy," Roman said, but he smiled when he said it so he clearly had no intention of not doing it.

He totally did, turning and bending over nice and slow to pick up Dean's shirt, his butt and the long muscles in the backs of his thighs flexing tantalizingly as he did.

"Niiiiice," Dean drawled from where he'd slumped down, splayed out all lazy. "Damn."

Giving man that he apparently was, Roman took his sweet time moving Dean's shoes out of the way of the door, adding the socks and underwear to the pile, and, finally, straightening back up. Still smiling away, Roman was, and it'd lost that smug edge. "Like that, huh?"

"Naaaaaah," Dean scoffed. "I'm just droolin' over nothin."

"Uh-huh." Roman made his way across the living room, the bundle of Dean's clothes in his hands. "I'm gonna head back to the bedroom for a bit."

"Nap?"

"Nap."

Dean laughed as he forced himself back to his feet. "'D I wear you out already?"

"Recharging the batteries," Roman said smoothly. "For later."

"Ooh, that's a good plan," Dean said. "I like that plan."

He followed Roman down the little hall and into the massive master suite. It still pissed him off that this bedroom, with that fucking enormous bed and the huge dresser along the front wall and many windows, was about twice the size of the shithole he called home. This was a _hotel_ room and somehow it was nicer than anyplace he'd ever stayed.

While Roman went to deposit Dean's clothes on the armchair in the corner, Dean belly-flopped onto the bed and sprawled out on his stomach, arms and legs just kinda falling wherever they wanted and his face turned on the pillow to watch Roman. "'D you like the arcade?"

"Yeah!" Roman dropped Dean's things, and padded over to the bed, still naked as the day he was born. Earnest. "I haven't had fun like that since I was a kid. I liked kicking your ass at air hockey. And on the track. That was fun. I almost wish we'd gone back down and ran another race or two."

The bed dipped as Roman climbed on and scooted himself over. Dean folded his arms under his pillow, yawning. "Mm, yeah, if there weren't too many people I would've, but it's no fun when there's eight people. It's more fun with, like, four or five people. That second race was a fucking _blast_."

Roman scooted closer, rolling onto his side to face Dean. "Yeah, it was."

"Not since you were a kid, huh?" Dean said.

"I was always busy in activities or sports," Roman said. "Both of my parents were big about that. Video games were a distraction I didn't need. I couldn't even be on a computer up in my room. I had to do my homework at the table, and leave my laptop there when I went to bed. Even as a teenager. My phone, too."

"Strict." Wasn't really the word Dean _wanted_ to say, but it probably wasn't his place to say _controlling_.

"Yeah." Roman's hand wandered over and brushed along Dean's jawline. "It could be worse."

"True."

"Do you do stuff like that a lot? Go to the arcade and things like that?"

"If I got loose cash laying around, I do," Dean said. "There's one - it's just a regular, like, _arcade_ arcade with no go-karts not all that far from my place. I got there when, like, when… You know. Cravings get bad. Beating up little people on a screen is a good distraction if I can't find any wrestling to watch."

"Cravings."

"They're not as bad as they used to be, but I still get moments where I'm, like, I'm fightin' not to go find Sami and ask him to give me something. Sucks. I fucking hated the way that shit took over everything and wrecked it, but by the same token, I still want it. That rush. I wouldn't fuck with heroin or Oxys, and I avoided meth as much as I could, but speed was a thing. Coke. Especially coke. That was a bad deal. I always wanted to _go-go-go_ all the time when I was younger. Cause trouble. Party all the time with everybody. Fuck shit up. But that's a deep fuckin' rabbit hole, and if I even look at it, I know I'm gonna fall all the way back down. I've clawed my way too far out to wanna let go now. If I did, that'd probably be it. I wouldn't wanna put myself through this again."

Roman rolled the ball of his thumb over Dean's cheekbone. "Hold on, then. Because I think it's worth it. You're worth it. I got a feeling you're gonna be able to make it."

Heat lit up Dean's cheeks. Prickly all over, he grabbed Roman's wrist and moved it away from his face, trapping it down on the mattress. _You're worth it._ It's like somebody upended a jar of ants under his skin suddenly, and he almost wanted to get up and try to walk the feeling off. Almost.

"I'm not gonna give up," he managed, gruff and quiet. "I just ain't figured out what I'm doin yet."

"You'll get there."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're stubborn and you're not afraid to speak your mind. You've done both with me, anyway. Not a lot people do that." On the mattress, Roman flipped his hand over and curled his fingers around Dean's palm. "It's the money. You know? It makes people either want to kiss my ass or too intimidated to act normal. Not you. Might get you into trouble, but you seem the kind of guy who just says whatever he's thinking. Does whatever is in his head to do. I think you'll get wherever you want to go."

That prickling again. Dean honestly didn't know what do with any of it. "...yeah."

"You will," Roman insisted, squeezing Dean's hand.

"Like you'll get to your beach house and your culinary tours?"

"I'm stubborn, too."

"Ya don't say."

Roman started to laugh, but it turned into a yawn.

Dean yawned himself and let his eyes drift shut.

What he did not do was move his hand.

He fell asleep to the feeling of Roman's thumb rolling over the back of it.

Felt nice.

* * *

His own phone - _fucking traitor_ \- pulled him awake a couple hours later, the damn thing ringing its god-awful obnoxious ring from somewhere inside the pile of clothes on his chair.

Sami, probably, but as tempted as Dean was to ignore it, he dragged his half-asleep carcass up off the bed and walked over to go find the annoying fucking thing.

When he found it, he flipped it open and answered it with a gruff, "Yeah?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah, hey, Sami. 'Sup?" Dean pushed his clothes and his backpack off the chair, sat down.

"Did you just wake up or something? You sound rough."

"Yeah, I's takin' a nap." It wasn't until then it even registered Roman was no longer in bed. He hadn't even heard Roman get up. "Where are you?"

"On my way back. We're almost to Phoenix. Should be back tomorrow." Sami's voice was all gravel and rasp, deep. He always sounded like a sixty-year-old trucker who'd smoked two packs a day. "You at the apartment?"

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew Dean's attention to the balcony, where he saw Roman walk across and lean on the railing, phone in hand. "'M at the Kingsford."

"The…? Holy fuck, dude, I thought I dreamed all that. Are you working right now?"

"Not right this second, no, but yeah, I'm still, like, on the job. Have been for the last three days."

"Oh." There was an awkward pause, and Dean could just picture Sami squirming uncomfortably in the driver's seat of that beat-up old junker he drove. "How's, uh, how is it?"

"Better 'n I expected," Dean admitted. "Way better. I wouldn't say it's been _easy_ , but Roman's been - he's been, like, nice. Like, I'm not just something to fuck. 'S been a real nice change of pace. Plus, fuck, the money is good. Five grand? We can get the fuck outta that roachbag, finally. Get us somewhere better. How'd the run go?"

"Clean and quick," Sami said. "I was gonna tell ya I talked to Dev yesterday." One of their old drug buddies back in Cincinnati. "He thinks it'd be all right for us to come back. Said he'd let us crash at his place until we had a chance to sort everything out with Randy."

"Randy wants my ass _dead_ ," Dean said. "I don't think there's anything _to_ sort out."

"Naw, man, word goin' around is Randy's old man clamped down on him. Got tired of having to bail him out of jail. Basically threatened to cut off his trust fund if he gets into any more trouble. Guess he's working at his dad's firm all the time now so he's not even around that much. Dev thinks if we just apologize and shit, maybe you take a couple punches and don't tell, that'll be it. But he won't kill you. With the money I got saved and what you're getting, shit dude, there's no reason we couldn't go home. Dev said the scene there is startin' to come back. New players and new product - which, I know you're trying to stay out of it, but even so, you could still be there. Nobody would make you use, if you didn't want to."

Dean slumped forward and covered his eyes with a hand. "We've been over this, dude. I can't go back. I feel like if I do, I'm going backward. I don't wanna do that anymore. I don't wanna keep runnin' in place. I wanna move forward. I can't do that if I'm back there 'cuz the temptation… I don't think I'd be able to stay out of it. And that's a fuckin' rabbit hole I don't wanna fall back down. We could find a better place here and move _up_. You know? I've already started."

"Move _up_?" Sami barked a humorless laugh. "All you did once you got off the shit was start turning tricks."

"No reason I couldn't learn some _new_ tricks, though," Dean said mildly. "Better ones. 'Stead of makin' the same stupid mistakes and bein' in the same trouble. And with this cash, Sami, I'm done workin' a corner. I got no need to. Five grand is enough to get set up in a better place here. I can go find an _actual_ job. I like this place."

"There's _nothing_ here, Dean."

"There could be, if we stopped fucking around and actually tried."

That idea about a wrestling school was starting to burrow itself into his brain.

 _There could be_.

"Look, whatever," Sami said gruffly. "I'm about to hit traffic, so I gotta go. We can talk about this more when I get back. For whatever it's worth, dude, I'm sorry about what I said the other morning. You know I didn't mean that. But think about it. I'm serious. You could find a nicer place there, too, and find a job. Whatever you wanted to do. You know I got your back."

"...yeah."

"See you Saturday, huh?"

"Sure." Dean snapped the phone shut and tossed it onto the floor.

The balcony door slid open just then, and Roman stepped through, eyes flicking down to the phone. "Got a call, too, huh?"

"Sami," Dean said, slouching back in the chair. Still totally naked. Didn't care. "You?"

"My dad," Roman shrugged on his way to perch on the foot of the bed. He'd combed his hair back into its bun and thrown on some black lounge pants. "Wanted to go over a few things for the meeting tomorrow. My office, too. No big deal. What's with the serious face?"

"Oh, Sami's still on me about moving back to Cincinnati." That old guilt rose again; he squashed it like he'd squash a cigarette under his heel, merciless. "I don't wanna. Nothin' there for me. But anyway." He waved all that off. "I'm fuckin' starvin."

Roman took the hint. "I was just coming in here to ask you about that. You good with pizza? 'Cuz I know a place - they don't usually deliver, but they make an exception for me - that makes some of the best I've ever had. they got this old brick oven that makes this amazing crust. And they've got some kinda unique flavors. They got one that's - and it sounds a little strange, but trust me, it's great - that has black figs, pork belly, caramelized onions and this really good fontina cheese on it. That's my favorite. You can't go wrong with pork belly. But they also have a really good sausage pizza. It's andouille. It's got bell peppers and green onions on it. Little spicy, but it's killer. Or one with heirloom tomatoes and applewood bacon, if you'd rather."

"Um." Dean had no idea what the fuck black figs were, so he said, "Sausage sounds fine to me."

Roman held up his phone and got up off the bed. "I'll go take care of this, then. I was thinking - I haven't seen _Raw_ or _SmackDown_ this week. Have you?"

"Nope."

"Oh, good. We can watch those, then." He padded over to the dresser and picked up his iPad. "I'll go get everything ordered."

"Okay," Dean said, eyeing the pile of clothes on the floor.

"You all right?" Roman asked. He hadn't moved.

"Yeah."

"Sure?"

Dean glanced up briefly, smiled. "It's fine. Just gotta figure some stuff out, I guess." He meant to leave it at that, but his damn mouth just kept on going. "Kinda hard when you and your friend aren't even on the same page anymore. It was easy when we were both using, but now that I've quit, we're just kinda… Drifting? Like, I can't even talk to him about quitting without him gettin' all pissy about it. It's like he thinks I think I'm better than him or something - which I don't. At all. I dunno. We just want different stuff now."

"That's tough, man," Roman said. "But you can't force people to do what they don't wanna do. At some point, I think you gotta start thinking about what's best for _you_."

"I almost got him killed, Roman." Dean let that hang in the air for a beat. "When I was gettin' fucked up all the time, I was _beyond_ an asshole. Reckless. Dangerous. Fucking with anybody just 'cuz I could. There was this guy who'd been hangin' around that that nobody liked. Randy. Rich kid. Real piece of shit. Fucker wouldn't hesitate to hurt anyone or anything. And one time, just for the hell of it, I beat the shit outta _him_. Unprovoked. He hadn't done anything to me, but I was paranoid he _would_ , so I fucked him up.

"Couple weeks later, he came at me and Sami. Stabbed Sami in the leg. Cut his femoral artery open. Sami almost bled out right there. Even after Sami recovered, Randy kept coming. He jumped us both a couple times. The last time, he had some guys with him, and - I mean, it was lucky some cars happened to drive by, 'cuz I think Randy and his boys would've killed us otherwise. So me and Sami ran for it. Ended up here."

"Shit," Roman murmured.

"Yeah," Dean said, toeing his jeans. "Well, I guess this friend of ours back home told Sami it's all blown over. That's why Sami wants to go home. But I don't. Don't think I'd be able to avoid temptation if I did. I just - I still feel like I owe him. You know?"

"Hmm." Roman shifted his iPad and his phone to his other hand. "I don't think 'owing someone' means you have to necessarily put yourself in a situation where you're sacrificing your own well being or your own happiness for them. I'd think you'd want to get your act together and make something of yourself instead. Use the chance you have. That's what I'd do. Don't waste the opportunity."

It made sense, was the thing. Making something out of himself, getting into a position where he could actually help Sami out. That made sense. Dean nodded. "I gotta talk it over with him when he gets back, I guess. Figure it out. Pizza?"

"Oh, yeah," Roman said, once again taking the hint. He was good like that. "Let me me go order it. I'll be out in the living room."

"Okay," Dean said. "Hey, thanks."

Roman smiled over his shoulder. "You bet. If you need to talk more, I'm happy to listen."

Dean just nodded. He felt warm all over in a way that made him restless, and after he was alone in the room, he got up and shook himself out like a dog shaking off. Then he went into the bathroom and splashed some icy cold water all over his face.

"Fuck's your problem?" he asked his frowning reflection.

It didn't answer.

* * *

Because he was still warm, Dean opted just to throw his jeans on and leave a shirt off.

He joined Roman on the couch across from the huge TV, flopping down and propping his feet up on the coffee table.

Roman was busy futzing around on his iPad, apparently trying to get it to talk to the TV or something - which Dean hadn't even known they could do. Pretty cool, though, especially once Roman grunted in satisfaction and the image from his iPad's screen suddenly appeared on the big screen.

A few more taps, and Roman had the beginning of _Monday Night Raw_ playing - just like that.

Like a couple of lazy asses, they sat there vegging out on a drawn-out, boring in-ring promo and kind of a clusterfuck thrown-together tag-team match.

"What are they even fighting for?" Roman asked. "Did I miss something?"

"Not that I can tell," Dean said, frowning as one of the four dudes climbed up into the corner and backflipped into the other three dudes. "I think they're just doin' that crap where they throw two feuds together. I dunno. It's kinda stupid."

"Oh, yeah, I don't like that, either."

As that match wound down, there was a knock at the door.

"Pizza," Roman said, heaving himself off the couch. "You want a beer or something, help yourself. Get me one while you're at it?"

They met back at the coffee table, Dean with a couple of uncapped bottles of beer and Roman with a couple of brown cardboard pizza boxes. They smelled good, anyway, and didn't look half-bad. In spite of the weird toppings on Roman's pizza, it still _smelled_ like pizza.

Crust was a little paler than he was used to, and thin, but, he discovered when he tried a bite of Roman's strange pizza, it actually wasn't too bad.

In a way, it kind of reminded him of Hawaiian pizza, that combination of salt and sweet and mild cheese. Different flavor, though, because the herbs or whatever on it were nothing like he'd ever had on a pizza before. Roman said it was thyme or something, but whatever it was, it was pretty good - enough he wolfed a slice while a decent Women's title match played on the TV.

As good as Roman's pizza was, though, Dean liked the andouille better because it had some kick to it. He was a fan of spice, and the sausage was spicy without being overpowering. The peppers and onions - which he'd normally avoid - actually went real well with it.

It was miles better than the grease and rubber and cardboard frozen pizzas he ate, anyway.

Roman raised eyebrows when Dean snagged a second slice of the pork belly pizza. "Pretty good, right?"

At the restaurant, last night Dean had felt a little bad because he hadn't been all that into the food. Tonight, he didn't have to fake it when he said, "It's fucking _great_."

So was Roman's answering smile. "Isn't it? Like I said, they have this old brick oven they use and Lily, the owner, she sources everything locally. In fact…"

And he was off, explaining in more detail than Dean knew or wanted to know about just exactly how the pizza place's owner chose all her toppings and how they used certain woods in the oven to get certain tastes and how many different kinds of pizzas there were. Dean just kind of let it wash over him, amused and entertained by Roman's lit-up enthusiasm for food in general.

How he talked about it reminded Dean, strangely enough, of how Antonio talked about his grandfather's company: with passion. Whenever Roman talked about his actual job, there was nothing like that. No fire and no smiles. It was just a job.

Dean tried to imagine that, what it'd be like to be trapped in a job he couldn't get out of, even if there was something he wanted to do more.

Like if he got stuck working at a gas station to make ends meet or something, and never actually got a chance to wrestle.

 _Fuck_ , that would suck.

Roman fell silent about the time they finished off all the pizza. They scooted into the middle of the couch and sort of leaned against each other to watch the rest of _Raw_ , comfortable and quiet once again.

In the middle of a particularly boring match, Dean tried to picture himself actually _being_ in the ring:

What it would be like to get knocked down or jump off a ring post.

How it would be to grab a mic and talk to a few thousand people.

What being in the middle of a bunch of chanting people would sound like.

Stepping into the ring with a dude like a Sheamus or even a Big Show and throwing down.

(He couldn't imagine how bad it'd hurt to get slapped in the chest by one of Big Show's giant fucking hands.)

Even a month ago, it seemed like a wild pipe dream, something he could only look back on with regret, but all of a sudden, it didn't seem so impossible. Like it really _could_ be as simple as getting himself in shape and finding a school and giving it a shot.

At this point, he had nothing to lose.

Except a good friend, maybe, but maybe not.

Maybe not.

_What if?_

* * *

As _SmackDown_ drew to an end, Roman got a little frisky, leaning over to drag fingers through Dean's chest hair and trace a slow line from one of Dean's nipples to the other and back.

Dean hooked a hand on Roman's forearm, squeezed. On the TV, the finish to the main event ended in some double count-out bullshit, anyway, so Dean let himself get distracted by what Roman was doing.

It was easy.

"What do you wanna do now?" Roman breathed into his ear.

 _You_ , Dean thought.

This close, all he'd have to do was turn his head, and-

 _Nope_.

"I think we should take a bath," he said, sitting up a little more. "That - I liked that."

Roman shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

While they waited for the huge-ass bathtub to fill, Roman backed Dean up against one of the many vanities in the bathroom and worked him into a ridiculous lather, sucking even more hickies into the sides of Dean's neck, working his nipples with hard suction and soft lips, and grinding his hand right over Dean's painfully-trapped hard-on.

Dean retaliated the best he could, slipping both hands inside Roman's lounge pants - he'd gone commando - and squeezing Roman's ass with one hand while the other grabbed hold of Roman's joystick.

Gave _up-up-down-down-left-right-left-right_ a whole other meaning…

From zero to a hundred in about three minutes.

Something about Roman just made Dean so fucking horny.

And in the bathtub, it didn't stop because Roman insisted on washing Dean himself, soapy hands slipping and sliding all over Dean's body like he wanted to touch every damn inch. And Dean responded in kind, grabbing the coconut-scented body wash and getting Roman all sudsy, just enjoying the steamy heat of the water and the warmth of Roman's skin under his hands.

When they were all clean, they sat back, sipping their beers, the tub's jets bubbling the water around them.

A little intermission before the main act later.

Apropos of absolutely nothing, Dean said, "You ever think about becoming a chef?"

Roman glanced over. "I mean, I've taken cooking lessons before, but no. Not really. Why?"

"I dunno. Just how you talk about food. You're really, like, passionate about it."

"I just really like good food, is all." Roman ducked his head, shrugging. "I know it's kind of a cliche at this point, but if I was going to do anything, I'd like to do one of those travel blogs. Where you travel around, and take pictures or write about what you eat. Or both. Or something like that. That would be fun. Part of those culinary tours." He stole a look over. "Passionate?"

"Like you're really into it," Dean said. "I was thinking earlier how you were talking about all that stuff on the pizza, and it kinda reminded me of how I get about wrestling. You're just way into it. Even kinda reminded me of Antonio a little - how he was really into this idea about making portable MRI machines and how good they'd be for small hospitals and stuff. It's just your thing, I guess? I dunno. Maybe not. Might just be talkin' out my ass. I just noticed you don't talk about your job like that."

Roman snorted, poked Dean's side under the water. "You're not gonna let that go, are you?"

"No, I will," Dean said. "I know it's none of my business. It was just kinda funny to see you gettin', like, hyped up about figs, of all things. Funny in a good way. Cool. You know?"

"Mm." Roman flicked some water Dean's way. "I think you're making fun of me."

Dean flicked some water back, snickering when it rolled off the end of Roman's nose. "Am not."

"Are too." A harder splash.

"Jerk." Dean blinked the water out of his eyes and sent a handful Roman's way. "I was not."

Grinning, Roman threw an arm around Dean's neck in kind of a slippery headlock. "Oh, is that how it's gonna be?" He dragged Dean off the bench and made like he was going to dunk Dean's head under water. "You were making fun of me."

The suds in the water made Dean's skin slick enough he was able to get out of the hold, but not before he slipped and belly flopped into the water anyway. He came up spluttering, the sound of Roman's laughter drifting over to him through the steam.

"Oh, it's on now!" he said arming water off of his face. He launched himself at Roman, laughing himself, and trying his damnedest to dunk Roman's head underwater. _Trying_ being the operative word. He was quick, but Roman had a good forty pounds on him - plus the water made everything unpredictable.

Mostly they just up splashing each other, laughing like a couple dumb-asses, and getting water all over the bathroom floor. Roman's hair was plastered down to his face - kinda going everywhere - and Dean's got all pulled up weird and he bet they looked stupid, but he couldn't stop laughing.

Somehow, Dean ended up in Roman's lap, and he noticed Roman staring at his mouth, gray eyes intent.

Not laughing now.

Things suddenly got very still, with the water sloshing around them the only sound in the room.

Dean didn't move.

He wasn't sure he would, even if…

 _Even if_.

Roman leaned in, and Dean held his breath, his body prickling all over again.

The kiss grazed Dean's cheek, just under his cheekbone. "Let's clean up in here and go to bed, huh?"

Swallowing, Dean nodded.

As he slipped off of Roman's lap and climbed out of the tub, he couldn't tell if he was more relieved or disappointed.

Not at all.

 _Fuck_.

* * *

He shook off the feeling as best he could in the only way he could thing: taking charge.

Falling into the role he knew better, he guessed.

With the bathroom cleaned up and the pair of them drying off, they headed back out into the cathedral of a bedroom with its gauzy curtains and high ceilings, and Dean didn't know what the hell to do with his hands.

Didn't know much of anything, except the way Roman's ass looked wrapped in a white hotel towel.

How much he wanted it.

Brazenly, he padded over to the dresser, where Roman stood drying his hair, and pulled the towel away from Roman's waist.

Roman eyed him curiously. "What are you doing?"

Dean laid the towel out on top of the spotless comforter. "Get on the bed."

That earned him a look, dark eyebrows arching up nearly to Roman's hairline. "You're telling me what to do now?"

"'S my turn to take care of you tonight," Dean said, folding his arms over his chest. Stubborn. "You keep doing all the work. Not that I'm complaining, but I want you to let me do the work this time." _That's my job_. "I want you to relax and let _me_ take care of _you_."

Shrugging, Roman tossed his other towel onto the dresser and made his way over to the bed. "What are you gonna do?"

Nerves jangling suddenly, Dean waited until Roman laid down on the towel to answer, "I kinda wanna eat you out." That ass… "Just that, though. You can fuck me or whatever - I'll suck you - after that. Whatever you want. Is that okay?"

He stood at the foot of the bed, trying not to fidget while he waited for Roman's answer. Eventually, Roman did, his eyes half-lidded and oddly dark. "Yeah, that's okay. I'm down for that."

"Anyone ever done that to you before?"

"Not - I got rimmed once, kinda," Roman offered, "but that was years ago. So, pretty much no. How, uh, how do you want me?"

"On your stomach for now."

It surprised him how agreeably Roman rolled over, pulled his knees apart, folded his forearms, and rested his chin on them. Like it was no big deal.

He looked good like that, all stretched out and waiting.

Dean's dick twitched as he headed over to his backpack for the lube and a condom.

Back over on the bed, climbed up and went to his hands and knees over Roman's back, hovering there, just taking in the broad, muscled expanse of Roman's back. The edges of his tattoo. The way damp, dark hair curled at the ends.

Roman closed his eyes as Dean bent down to nip lightly at the side of his neck, down low, where a mark wouldn't show. A wet lick chased the bite, soothing away the redness, and Roman sighed.

"Just relax," Dean said, tonguing the outer shell of Roman's ear. "I gotcha."

"Mm-hmm."

"Don't fall asleep, though."

"I won't," Roman chuckled.

"Better not, 'cuz I don't want you to miss this."

That drew another lazy laugh and, "I won't."

"I reserve the right to wake you by force if you do," Dean warned him. He shimmied down a little and ran idle fingertips along the backs of Roman's shoulders, kind of mapping it all out the way Roman had done before, tracing the the edges of Roman's tattoo, and pulling light knuckles along the ridges of Roman's spine.

But he didn't linger too long.

The slow-down-and-savor stuff really wasn't his forte.

Too eager, he guessed.

He moved all the way off and patted Roman's side. "Can you lift up a little? Kinda get on your knees. It'll be easier for me."

Roman wiggled himself until his ass was up off the bed. The rest of him stayed down on it, his cheek on his forearms and eyes closed, hair plastered wetly to his jaw.

The view from behind made basically every ounce of blood drain out of Dean's body and pool in his dick because _holy shit_ did Roman look good like that.

Dean sat forward and skimmed his fingers down both of Roman's asscheeks, just feeling them, firm and warm and well-muscled. Unable to help himself, he nipped at one, licked it, and did the same to the other, lathing a long wet stripe along each.

Slowly, carefully, he worked his way toward the middle, watching and listening for reactions on his way.

Roman stayed still and quiet, but his dick had gotten harder.

Taking that as encouragement, Dean gently spread Roman's cheeks and worked his way up one side and down the other, mostly just lips and fingertips, avoiding the hole for the time being.

But then he was there, and the couldn't resist drawing a couple of soft, clumsy circles all the way around Roman's rim with just the point of his tongue. He _felt_ Roman suck down a startled breath, felt the way Roman's body hitched at that touch, and smiled.

He took his time with it, licking his way back and forth across and around for a little bit, and growing more and more confident when he heard the noises Roman was trying to muffle against his arm: these little hums and the beginnings of groans. It was all the encouragement he needed to keep going.

And he did, pressing his tongue _in_ , just a little ways, and pulling it back out. Working that again and again, nice and slow, and reveling in the way Roman started to open up for him. He brought a hand up while his mouth was busy, alternating between massaging Roman's balls and rubbing his dick.

Once he started doing that, Roman got louder, the sounds less muffled.

It was a heady feeling, having this big cat stretched out and purring under him.

He got greedy, just diving right in to all but fuck Roman with his tongue, flicking in and out quickly, a hand pulling and pushing at Roman's hips to encourage him to move.

Roman rutted into Dean's hand and fucked back into Dean's mouth, his breathing harder and more shallow.

Somehow, without really missing a beat, Dean managed to fumble the lube over to himself and get the cap open one-handed. He tipped the bottle onto its side and let some dribble onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm them up. And when Roman felt _open_ enough, Dean slid one finger right on in alongside his tongue, and Roman's breath left him in a loud rush like, "...whooooa."

Dean pulled back long enough to plant an apologetic kiss on Roman's buttcheek. "Sorry. Shoulda warned ya that was comin."

"...huh," was all Roman said. It was kind of a distant noise, like Roman was off somewhere else.

How well Dean knew that feeling.

He eased a second finger in, careful and slow, and started crooking them in search for-

"Hoooo man…"

That.

 _Bingo_.

That spot.

The one that made Roman tense up and breathe out all at once.

When Dean crooked his fingers against it again, Roman slumped forward. "...shit."

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Dean said.

There was no answer beyond a hum, but that was okay.

After that, Dean went to town in earnest: two fingers slipping in to curl against Roman's prostate and pull back out again, his tongue licking around the top of the rim, his other hand tight on Roman's dick, and Roman rocking against him, panting aloud, his arm muffling the sounds he was making - holy _fuck_ it was incredible. He was so hard himself he was half-convinced he could come just from all this alone. Roman was so…

 _...fucking_ hot.

Tanned skin and dark hair and muscles and fucking _strong_ , but right now just kind of turned over completely to what Dean was doing to him, and fuck _yeah_ that was amazing.

Riding Dean's mouth and rutting into his hand, this messy rhythm that made Dean want to just sink in and start fucking because _fuck_ he was hard. He was so hard he could barely see straight, let alone concentrate on taking Roman apart here.

He'd meant to stop at some point, to flip them over and sink down on Roman's dick, but they never got that far because he didn't want to stop and Roman didn't seem to want to stop, and before he knew it, Roman groaned loud into the pillows and came all over Dean's hand and the towel, body tensing and then going boneless,

How well Dean knew _that_ feeling - especially here the last couple days.

He withdrew his fingers and sat back, hand going to his aching dick to jerk himself off - fast, no savoring, just giving into the burning need to _get off_ after what he'd just seen. Any other time, he'd probably be embarrassed at how little time it took him to get there, but as he threw his head back and came all over Roman's ass, he felt too fucking good to give a shit.

"Holy _fuck_ ," he gasped raggedly as he did, the relief hitting him like a fucking tidal wave.

He sagged over to one side with it, catching himself on his hand, as out-of-breath and overheated as if he'd just run a marathon.

Roman just blinked at him, still sprawled out on his stomach - the one who seemed dazed this time instead of the one getting all smug-ass about it, all barely-open eyes and his face all placid.

Fucked out.

Relaxed.

 _Good_.

That tiny little thread holding Dean's self control stretched to the breaking point. He found himself shifting over, leaning in, about to just say _fuck it_ and kiss Roman right then and there.

He wanted to - bad - but just as he got close, he chickened out.

Or common sense kicked in.

Something.

 _Something_ stopped him, and he wound up kissing Roman's cheek much in the same way Roman had kissed his in the bathtub. Just a quick peck there and one more into the corner of Roman's mouth, before he flopped back down, heart thundering in his ears.

Telling himself as he did that he didn't see that look of disappointment on Roman's face.

Did not.

 _Fuck_.

 _Oh fuck_.


	9. Day Five

" **New Tricks"  
** _IX. Day Five_

Roman woke before his alarm and carefully untangled himself from the still-sleeping Dean.

They'd started out on separate sides of the bed, but had migrated together overnight, to the point where Dean had curled right up at Roman's side, an arm slung across Roman's stomach. It was comfortable - even though Roman was pretty sure Dean drooled on him and Dean's five o'clock shadow was scratchy as hell.

As much as he'd have liked to stay in bed longer, Roman didn't, instead opting to go trim his goatee and deal with his hair and try to get himself ready for the day ahead.

_Try_.

Somehow, Dean didn't want to get out of Roman's head, thoughts of yesterday and last night overriding his best attempts at trying to focus on what he needed to talk to his dad about on the way to the Cesaros' offices this morning. It was important he be on top of his game, but it was hard to concentrate when the last thing he wanted to do was put on the facade and go lie to the Cesaros' faces again.

What he wouldn't have give to be able to just grab Dean and _go_ \- find a new place to eat, go to a wrestling show somewhere, find a baseball game, fly out of the damn _country_.

Anything but more of the same.

He swiped a hand through the water he'd filled the sink with, and watched it ripple.

_What are you doing to me, Dean?_

He dressed in the bathroom after he'd finished grooming, pulling on one of his newest - and best - black suits, all razor creases and ruler-straight lines. It didn't feel any heavier or any less well-fitted than it usually did. WIth a steel gray tie arranged just-so over a crisp white shirt and the mirror shine on his shoes, he knew he looked damn good.

If nothing else, he guessed he had the right appearance for the role.

But his heart was definitely still in bed with Dean, who, at some point, had woken up and now sat propped up on the headboard, bedheaded and bleary, a bright red blanket seam running down his cheek.

On his way over to grab his watch off the dresser, Roman glanced around and smiled. "I'll be back around eleven, so you got a while before you need to get up. We'll hit the course around noon, but I don't think I tee off until one-thirty. That'll give me time to go over what you need to do."

"...kay," Dean said through a yawn. "'S a nice suit. Look good."

"Thanks." Roman finished strapping his watch, and made his way over to the side of the bed closest to where Dean was sprawled out. "I'm not exactly sure how tomorrow is gonna go. The only for-sure about it is I'm flying out at two. I might have to go in and finalize everything with the Cesaros, but assuming we get everything rolling today, that won't be much more than a few signatures on a preliminary agreement. We'll definitely have time to at least have breakfast or lunch, and you'll have your money then."

It came out more brisk and businesslike that he meant it to, almost cold, and he felt bad for the way Dean's face shuttered. "'Kay."

He tried on a smile, but it felt too stiff and weird, so he bent down to brush a kiss across Dean's forehead in apology. "Go back to sleep, huh? I'll see you here in a few hours."

Dean just nodded and closed his eyes again, his face turned away.

Somehow that just made it worse.

Roman opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came, and he wound up just turning away and heading out of the suite, yesterday fading into warm memory behind him and today's cooler business rolling out ahead of him.

Once the elevator doors slid shut and he began his descent to the lobby, it got easier to put Dean aside and focus on what he wanted to say to close out the deal. The sooner this was done, the better.

Out in the hotel's flowery lobby, the first thing that hit Roman's ears was not the sound of the fountain rippling, but _music_.

Salsa-type music, from the sound of it, poured out of the office behind the reception desk. Tyler, meanwhile, hovered in front of the desk, using a dolled up selfie stick to take photos of himself.

This was not the first time Roman had caught him doing that; like every other time, Roman pretended not to notice, any more than he let himself notice the blue and purple sleeveless fur hoodie Tyler wore today. Roman thought a hotel like this would have a stricter dress code, but he didn't really mind all that much. Like all the flowers in the lobby and Enzo's wild hair, it was just something that gave the hotel a little character.

He'd planned to just walk out to the valet area, but Tyler apparently saw him coming. "Oh, Mr. Reigns," he called in his husky, quiet way, "may I have a word with you before you leave?"

Ordinarily, Roman would say no, that he was busy, but a quick glance at his watch told him he could spare a minute, so he detoured away from his path, and veered off to the desk. "Just one," he said. "I'm on my way to meeting. But, hey, what's with the music?"

"Oh, Dango has a dance competition in a week," Tyler said, glancing over a shoulder. Roman could actually see Fandango's shadow moving in the office. "He's practicing. What I wanted to say was that I spoke to William yesterday. He's very upset to have lost you as a customer."

"That's his own fault," Roman said darkly. "Regal brought it on himself."

The asshole.

"His loss," Tyler said agreeably. "I was going to say, if you need someone to keep you looking good, I would be happy to help you with that. It would help _me_ out even more than adding you to my portfolio would. William always chose the wrong jackets for your build. I can do better."

Roman leaned against the counter. "You did great with Dean," he mused. "I'll tell you what: when I come back in a few weeks, we can use the time I'll set aside for you to talk about it. I'll give you first crack at it."

"I _should_ get first crack at it," Tyler said, lifting his chin. A haughty little prince if ever there was one. "How do you feel about fur?"

"It belongs on animals," Roman said, trying very hard not to picture himself wearing one of Tyler's sleeveless hoodies. "Not on me."

"Mm, I think you'd do fine in it. Not as good as _me_ , but no one can do that."

"Right, well, I gotta get outta here," Roman said, tapping the counter. "I'll see you later."

Shaking his head, he headed off toward the valet exit, the sound of snapping selfies and salsa fading behind him.

* * *

On the way over to The Cesaro Group's main offices, Roman called his old man, who, as promised, had been waiting by the phone.

It was just a quick pre-game conversation; they'd been down this road so many times in the past that they had everything pretty well on lock: Roman would summarize where everything was, and his dad would make the last pitch to try to wrap it all up in a nice bow.

Not a minute too soon.

After he parked his Mercedes in Cesaros' visitor's parking lot, he checked his reflection one more time in the car's shiny surface, and headed on in, ready to just get this bullshit circus over with and get the hell on with the rest of his day.

The rest of his _life_.

But he should have known it wasn't going to be that easy.

It never was.

The main lobby of the Cesaro building was pretty typical: walls decorated with a few enlarged photographs of TCG products, front desk with a single locked door to the right that served as the gateway to the rest of the building, a waiting area near the front windows with coffee and cookies, and not a whole lot else.

What triggered alarm bells was the fact that Antonio stood near the reception desk with Seth.

Seth's back was to the doors, but Roman could see Antonio's face just fine: the usual smile had been replaced by the same frown that had been there the other morning, and it didn't ease off any as Roman approached them.

"Good morning, Antonio," Roman said, extending a hand.

Antonio shook it, and Seth's in turn. "Gentlemen."

Roman ignored Seth completely for the time being. There was a conversation that needed to happen in the worst way, but right now wasn't the appropriate time. "Are we all set for the call?" he asked Antonio instead. "Or was there a problem?"

"I need a word with you in private," Antonio replied, straightening his jacket's cuffs. "Seth, the conference room is already open if you want to head up." He caught the receptionist's eye. "He's clear to go through."

Dark eyes flicked back and forth between Antonio and Roman. Seth didn't look very happy. "I should probably stay, shouldn't I, Roman? It's probably not a good idea for me to be excluded."

"Go," Roman said, cool as anything. He could barely look Seth in the eye right now. "It'll be fine."

"It'll just take a minute," Antonio said.

"I really think I should stay," Seth protested.

Roman flat-eyed him. "Go on, Seth."

Like some spoiled kid denied a new toy, Seth dragged his feet all the way through the door. But went, and after he was gone, Antonio pulled Roman over to take a seat in the waiting area. "We have a predicament on our hands. Somehow, Hunter Helmsley got my grandfather's number later yesterday, and contacted him. From what I understand, Helmsley said many things of interest during this conversation - not the least of which is that he's offering a five-year assurance that the company will remain operational."

Of course.

_Of course_ this wasn't going to be quick and easy.

Pinching the bridge of hise nose to stave off the headache he could already feel building, Roman said, "He did, huh?"

"He offered a few million more, too," Antonio nodded. "It was, according to my grandfather, an 'interesting' conversation. Helmsey was quite eager to throw you company under the bus. He told my grandfather you'd made deals in the past where you'd kept a company open for an agreed-upon length of time only to turn around and close it as soon as the time ran out. My grandfather was concerned, as I'm sure you could appreciate."

"Did he happen to ask how the hell Hunter came by his information?" Roman asked.

"No," Antonio said. "He tired, but Helmsley was evidently quite cagey with his answers. 'A little birdie' told him, was what he told my grandfather. Roman, you understand that we still have our concerns. My grandfather actually liked Helmsley - enough he's considering setting up a meeting. I have told him that was foolish because we don't know much of anything about Helmsley, but once my grandfather gets an idea in his mind, he tends not to let it go. Unless you can bring something extra to the table, I'm not sure if this deal is going to go through."

Roman glanced out the windows beside him. This felt like he was stepping through a minefield. "Something extra like what?"

"What can you offer that Helmsley can't?"

Something about the wording rubbed Roman the wrong way, and he found himself taking a good, hard look at Antonio across the little coffee table. "What I want to know is how do I know I'm not getting played here? It's pretty damn convenient that we've been on the verge of having this deal nearly wrapped up twice now, only for these mysterious phone calls to happen and for you to start demanding more from us."

" _Demanding_?" Antonio leaned forward in his chair, mouth compressing. "We're not _demanding_ anything. We just want our assurances that you'll look after the best interests of this company. If we wanted something from you, we wouldn't resort to such low tactics as this. We would _ask_."

"You _are_ asking for more," Roman pointed out. "We made you a cash offer. But Hunter called, and then you wanted a guarantee. Hunter called again, and now you want even more than that. So, what was that you were saying about _asking_ us? That's not negotiation. That feels like a squeeze play. If you _want_ to negotiate, we can, but Antonio, we're not gonna be held over a barrel here."

"Wanting assurance is a 'squeeze play'?"

"We've given you that. Eighteen months with you in on the planning process."

"That's not five years."

"It's realistic," Roman pointed out. "Off the top of my head, I can name you ten companies Hunter's made promises to that he didn't keep. That's in the last two years. We've done our research into how they operate. They're a lot of hot air and empty promises. A five-year guarantee from them is meaningless. They'll bury some obscure out for themselves so deep in the contract that even the best lawyers won't see it. Meanwhile, _we_ have already agreed to let you sit in on the planning process. We've agreed to giving you a firm eighteen-month deal. We're giving you fair market value for the company - a company that, may I remind you, no investor wanted to touch. We're willing to take the chance because we believe in what you're doing."

Lies and more lies. They tasted like crap, but he had to keep shoveling them anyway.

Antonio leaned forward in his chair, looked down at his hands. "How is five years unrealistic, exactly? It's more reasonable than ten."

"The part that you're missing is it's eighteen months _to start_ ," Roman said. "We'll look and see where we are then and we'll adjust as needed. It's not eighteen months and we shut you down. It's not some blanket five-year thing. We're going to have a structured plan - which you'll be in on."

"I understand that," Antonio said, "but in the spirit of _negotiating_ , you're going to have to bring something more concrete to the table to convince my grandfather. That's the reality of the situation."

"Right, because dealing with you straight like we have been means nothing when somebody blazes in unasked-for with lot of slick words and tries to poach the sale." Roman got to his feet, annoyed and tired. "I see how it is."

"It's not like that," Antonio insisted, scrambling to his feet himself. "My grandfather is just stubborn. If you had something else to offer, that should seal the deal."

"Like what?" Roman asked, exasperated. "What else do you want from us?"

"Surely there must be something…"

Roman shook his head, dug into his inside pocket for his phone. "Listen, why don't you head up to the conference room. I'm gonna call my old man and talk to him about this. I doubt we're gonna be able to offer you anything else, but let me see what he has to say. Excuse me."

Without even waiting for a reply, he walked out of the building and took a seat on one of the concrete planters off to the side of the building. The base of his skull felt like it was being squeezed in a vice as he hit the speed dial for his dad's office.

His dad picked up on the second ring with a cautious, "Roman?"

"Dad, are you alone?" Roman asked without preamble. "We got a problem. I need to talk to you."

"Just a second." There was the sound of the phone being shifted, followed by a muffled, _Can I have the room, please? Wait outside_ , and the door clicking shut. "We are now. What's the problem?"

Roman rubbed the back of his neck and laid it out in a few quick, impatient sentences, not even bothering to hide just how _done_ he was with all these stupid games.

Once he finished, his dad sighed out his own irritation. "Dammit."

"Yeah," Roman said. "What do we do now, Dad? How do we lie our way out of this one?"

"I'm more concerned with how Hunter suddenly decided to offer a five-year assurance and knew how much to offer," his dad replied. "Less than a dozen people knew about the eighteen-month plan - us, a couple people at Seth's office, and the team I put in place to start working on it. So that narrows it down from a hundred people to just a handful. I still haven't heard back from John Laurinaitis' office about if they've turned anything up, but I'll have our IT people start combing emails."

"You do that," Roman said with an extreme lack of interest. "Meanwhile, what the hell are we doing about this situation? If it's me, I'd say cut our losses and walk. All we're doing now is digging ourselves in deeper. I didn't exactly promise Antonio we wouldn't shut them down in eighteen months, but I strongly implied we wouldn't."

He heard his old man's desk chair squawk, distantly, and glanced up in time to watch some birds fly by.

What he wouldn't have given to go back to yesterday.

"Why would you do that?" his father demanded. "You're leaving us open for a lot of trouble-"

"I _know_ , Dad," Roman said. "That's why I'm saying walk now."

"And lose another one to Hunter? Out of the question."

"Then what do we do?"

"Stay the course."

"Keep lying?" Roman squeezed his eyes shut. "What do we offer them?"

"We'll match Hunter's price."

"And what do we do at the eighteen-month mark? They're gonna kick."

There was a pause, and then, "We'll figure something out."

Roman sighed. "This is a bad idea. I don't want to keep lying to these people just to soothe your ego. I won't, Dad. I think we need to walk from this one, figure out who the hell is leaking our information, and try again with the next one after we've got the leak patched. I don't think it's worth the hit our reputation is probably going to take to keep pursuing this. But I'm not doing this."

"You really want to walk away from an eight-figure sale."

"Either that, or we need to come up with something else," Roman said. "Something _above-board_. This is getting too dirty."

"What would you suggest?" his father asked, an edge of sarcasm in the question. "There's no saving this company."

"How do we know that?" Roman shifted to keep the edge of the planter from digging into the back of his thigh, leaned forward, rubbed his forehead. For whatever reason, something Dean said to him yesterday popped into his head. "The portable MRI machines. That's Antonio's big thing. There's nobody really producing those yet - not on a big scale. Those would be huge for small clinics and third-world countries. We could hook them up with Medical Bridges and - hell, our own hospital network. Maybe even get a defense contract. They'd be useful as hell for the military. Maybe we farm out some of the production, but keep the bulk of it here. Look at finding cheaper components. There's gotta be a better answer than just 'buy it and tear it down.' They might be onto something here, and they've got the infrastructure already in place. _That's_ what we can do that Hunter can't.

"It's either this," he went on, "or you handle this yourself because I'm not lying to them anymore, Dad. I can't. I won't. Or we just walk away, fix our Hunter problem, and move onto the next sale. This isn't life-or-death. It's not worth the hassle."

Saying all that, getting out in the open, it felt like a huge weight came off of Roman's shoulders. The ache at the base of his skull eased, like he'd thrown open a pressure valve and let all that built-up steam out.

His old man was quiet for so long Roman started to wonder if the call had disconnected. He'd just started to pull it away from his ear to check when his dad said, "I still think we'd stand to gain more money selling it off."

"It's about more than money, Dad," Roman said. Because it was, and he _got_ it, suddenly. What Antonio had been saying before. "It's legacy. Your legacy. Think about it: we bring this technology where it can do a lot of good, that's huge. That's worth more than money. And if it fails, it's a tax write off and we can still sell off the pieces. It's not like we're gonna be left with nothing here. I think the potential for us to do good with this is worth a hell of a lot more than the cash you'd make out of a quick sale." He paused, kicked a rock, watched it skip across the sidewalk. "But that's your call. If you're gonna stay the course, then it's on you."

Again, there was a long pause. Roman got up and started wandering between one planter and the next, eyeing all the flowers, the vibrant blues and whites and pinks stretched up to catch the morning sun. Funny how he'd been by this building every day this week and hadn't even noticed they were here.

"We'd have to crunch some numbers," was what his dad finally said, reluctance slowing the words down. "I'm not saying yes, but I'm saying I see your point. I'm just not sure about the cost."

"So maybe we find investors to help defray the cost," Roman said quickly, firmly. "If we've got something more than a pipe dream to give them, if we have something concrete, they might be willing to get onboard with us. If we've got contracts already in place, then it's basically a sure thing for somebody to invest in. That's something worth considering."

"Listen to you, all full of answers today." His old man chuckled. "Feel that strongly about it, do you?"

"I just want us to do something better than tear everything down."

"I see that." His old man cleared his throat. "I'll tell you what: I'll sign off on this on the condition that you take Finn out for a date when you come home."

And this had been going so well. Roman kicked a planter with his heel, short and sharp, glared at the swaying tops of some trees. "You're really gonna try blackmail on me? For _this_?"

"It's not blackmail," his dad said, way too calmly. "Finn is a good kid, and he thinks the world of you. Give him a chance. You never know. He might surprise you."

"I doubt it." Roman squinted off at a fat cloud drifting by, thinking: this was technically blackmail, but he guessed one dinner would be worth it. It wasn't like anything had to come of it. Or would. The idea made him cringe, especially - confusingly - when he thought about Dean. Who Roman was not in any way, shape, or form dating, but even so.

_Even so_.

His dad cleared his throat. "This isn't negotiable. Take him out on a date, and I'll start making calls for this deal as soon we're done with the conference. My final offer."

Nothing had to come of it, Roman reminded himself. "Fine," he said, kicking the planter again. This was so ridiculous. "One date. That's it. If nothing sparks, then you leave it alone."

"Only if you agree to give him an actual chance."

"I will," Roman lied. This time, he didn't mind it so much. "So are we good?"

"I think so."

"Good. Thank you, Dad. Now what do we tell the Cesaros?"

"The truth," his dad said, a smile in his voice. "You're gonna tell them the truth."

_The truth_.

It had a nice damn ring to it.

* * *

"...looking into the possibility of obtaining a defense contract," Roman told Antonio and Willard Cesaro some twenty minutes later. "We think the technology you're proposing to develop would be useful in military hospitals. We've also got ties with charities that provide equipment to impoverished countries. And our own hospitals. There's a lot we can do. _That_ ," he added, looking directly at Antonio, "is what we're bringing to the table that Hunter can't. We have a huge network of companies under our umbrella and contacts in all kinds of industries we can lean on to try to make this work.

"I can't make any promises or guarantees other than we're going to do everything we can to keep this ship afloat," he went on. "Like I said, we believe in what you're doing. The potential. You'll be in on it every step of the way. That's how much we want this to work out."

Damn nice not to be lying.

When he looked around the table at the Cesaros and their executives, he saw excitement reflected back at him, most especially from Antonio, who'd broken out into a big smile.

What got him, though, was that Willard was smiling himself, eyes almost hidden in their nests of wrinkles. "That's the first time you've said it that I've believed you. You haven't seemed sincere until now. _Now_ ," he said, pointing a gnarled finger Roman's way, "I think there's something worth discussing here. We're not committing to anything _yet_ , but Antonio and I will discuss this tonight and have a decision for you in the morning."

" _Great_ ," Roman's old man said over the conference phone. "In the meantime, what other questions do you have for us?"

While Antonio and Willard chatted with Roman's dad, Roman himself looked across the table at Seth, who was tweezing his tie between a couple of fingers and frowning down at his notepad. Probably the only guy at the table who didn't look all that enthusiastic about the proceedings.

"Excuse me," Roman said to Antonio and Willard, "will you guys be all right for a few minutes? I want to borrow Seth for a second. Go over a couple things with him."

Seth's head snapped up, and he frowned over at Roman as Roman's dad said, "That's fine. We've still got a lot to talk about anyway. We'll be here.."

"Thanks," Roman said, pushing away from the long table.

He led Seth out into the hallway, and down to the little alcove at the end, well away from where anyone might eavesdrop on them. There was a set of tall windows down there, too, and Roman stood by them, looking out at a tree-studded view of a park while he waited for Seth to join him.

"What's up, Rome?" Seth asked, taking up a position across the hall, arms folded over his chest.

"That was gonna be my question," Roman said. "Something on your mind?"

"What the hell were you thinking with all that 'we're going to find a defense contact' stuff?" Seth demanded. "You have any idea how hard that's going to be to get out of? I told you not to talk specifics. How the hell am I supposed to write that out of the contract?"

"We wouldn't try to get out of it," Roman said. "I told my dad I'm fed up with lying here, and either we're gonna do this for real or we're walking away. Assuming they accept the offer, we'll need to clean up the contract and make sure it's locked down tight."

Seth narrow-eyed him. "Would've been good to know that _before_ the meeting, Roman. Jesus Christ. That changes everything. What are you _doing_?"

"Something better than I was doing. What's the problem?"

"You actually believe that bullshit you were saying? What happened to 'there's no amount of cash or changes in direction that'll save this company'?"

"It's not bullshit, and I do believe that, yeah. We're gonna have to take a hard look at the numbers, but I think Antonio's ideas are worth exploring. So, like I said, we're gonna need to make sure the contract is completely on the up-and-up."

"I'll take care of it," Seth said irritably.

"What's with you today?" Roman asked. "We pretty much got this sale in the bag, and I think we're pretty close to figuring out who the hell is leaking information to Hunter's company."

_That_ got Seth's attention; his head snapped up, and a sharp gaze homed in on Roman like a couple of harpoon points. "How do you even know there _is_ a leak? Maybe Antonio and his grandpa there made the whole thing up to get you to do what you did. Maybe they suckered you."

Roman shook his head. "If it was just the one sale, I might roll with that, but this has happened way too many times for it to be them. We have a leak, and according to my dad, we have it narrowed down to about a dozen people. Dad's got a team investigating."

"A dozen people?" Seth's eyes were huge. "How does he know?"

In hindsight, it was way too obvious to miss. Seth practically had a billboard with " _It's me! I'm the leak!"_ flashing over his damn head at that particular moment in time. Whenever he thought back on it, Roman wanted to kick himself for not picking up on it and pushing harder, because he could avoided the trouble that hit him over the next day if he had.

But the dots never connected for the Roman who stood at the end of the hallway with the man he considered his best, most loyal friend.

As shady as Seth could be in his personal life, Roman had never known him to be anything but straightforward in his business dealings. He was pushy and aggressive, determined to get his own way, but he never did anything Roman ever saw that seemed over the line.

Roman never had a reason to suspect Seth of being capable of sneaking around behind his back like that.

More fool, him.

No, all Roman worried about in the here and now was watching what he said so he wouldn't upset his friend any further. Last thing Seth needed to know was that Roman's dad was asking Seth's boss to snoop through Seth's email. Last thing Roman wanted Seth to think was that they couldn't trust each other. He was sure nothing would come of digging through Seth's email anyway, so there was no point even mentioning it.

All he said was, "Well, only about a dozen people knew. I guess they're just asking people. They'll probably ask us, too."

The thing about Seth, too, was that he covered pretty well. From wide-eyed alarm one second to scoffing the next, like he thought the whole thing was a ridiculous. "Us? Why the hell would they need to talk to _us_? We're the least likely out of anybody to do something like that. You've known me forever, Rome. You know I would never do that to you or your family."

"I know," Roman said, waving him off, "but they'll want to anyway, I think - just to be on the safe side. Just to cover all the bases. We don't have anything to worry about. Anyway, that's not even why I wanted to talk to you anyway. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page after that phone call last night."

"Oh, about your rentboy?"

"That better be the last time I hear you call him that." Roman lifted his chin. "His name is Dean. I just want to make sure when we go golfing today you leave him alone. He's not interested. As a favor to me, just let this one go."

"Why do you even care?" Seth challenged. "You're flying home tomorrow, and you'll never see this dude again. He's probably just gonna go right back onto whatever corner you found him on, so what difference does it make if I want to pick him up while I'm here? Good sex is good sex, and you know I'm in the market for that. Wouldn't you rather it be me than some random asshole?"

"He won't be going out onto the street again," Roman said evenly, "because I'm paying him enough that he doesn't have to. LIke I said, as a favor to me, leave him alone. Maybe try going without for a few days. Be faithful to Nikki. Your dick won't fall off."

"It might," Seth groused. "You don't know that. I have a very high libido."

"You just have poor impulse control."

"No, you just have a below-average sex drive."

"Dean would beg to differ," Roman said, letting himself get just a little smug - just this once. "You'll be fine. But you leave Dean alone. I mean it. I don't want to see you bothering him when we're out on the course. In fact, don't even talk to him."

Like a kid being denied a desired toy, Seth heaved an almighty sigh and rolled his eyes skyward, but, grudgingly, he said, "All right _fine_ , ya selfish asshole. Don't share, then. I'll make do. Hell, it's Friday, so that should mean a fresh crop of fuckables at the club. They'll be swarming all over me."

Roman shook his head. "Don't wanna know, bro. So we good?"

"We're good. Just, hey, give me heads-up if you find out anything about this investigation, would ya? I want to know what's up. What they're doing." A deliberate pause, and, "What they find."

"You'll be the first to know," Roman assured him. "Now come on. Let's get back to the meeting."

* * *

Rather than lay around all morning, Dean ended up throwing on shorts, a tee shirt, and sneakers, and heading off to go for a run. The hotel had a gym, but he'd never really liked them all that much. Running outside always seemed to make him feel the best, and today was no exception.

Instead of running off through the busy shopping area, though, he ran off behind the hotel and down a street that eventually led him to a good-sized park. This early, there were a few people wandering around the walkway, but not so many they got in his way.

He ran down a tree-lined path that followed a small creek, nothing on his mind but the music in his ears - Pantera, his favorite for working out - and the rhythm of his feet on the pavement. The scenery. The burn in his lungs when he started pushing himself up a hill.

What he didn't think much about was Roman.

It was nice to leave that giant ball of confusion and mixed signals behind for a while. Fuck, Roman had been the icy cold businessmen all over again this morning, totally opposite of the warm and easygoing dude Dean had had a blast with yesterday. And while it was probably good they were putting some distance between themselves today, it still sucked.

So Dean ran until his legs started to feel like jelly and every breath felt like fire, and didn't think at all.

He didn't think in the shower an hour and a half later, either, as exhausted as he was. His overworked muscles pulsed and twitched under his skin, which gave him something to focus on. And afterward, wearing nothing but a towel, he flopped down on the bed with his book, meaning to read for an hour. Not think.

Sleep grabbed him again instead.

It wasn't until he felt something touch the back of his shoulder that he snapped awake again, groggy and disoriented. Alarmed. "Whafuck?"

Someone chuckled down at him. "Just me, Dean."

Roman. Dean rolled over onto his back and blinked stupidly up at a smiling Roman. "Back already?"

"Already? It's after eleven. We're gonna have to go soon. Did you sleep the whole time?"

Dean pawed his face and made himself sit up. He felt just dazed, zombie-like, his muscles tight and weird. Probably shouldn't have let himself fall asleep. "I went for a run for a couple hours. More tired 'n I thought. We goin' soon?"

"We need to leave in about twenty minutes," Roman said on his way over to the dresser. "I don't know if you're hungry, but I brought a couple sandwiches up, too. If you want to get dressed real quick, we can eat and then get out of here."

"'Kay." Dean stretched out, yawned, and pried himself up off the bed. He tugged the towel off and walked bare-ass naked to the chair, but paused when he heard Roman hum across the room. When he glanced over his shoulder, Roman was staring at him. "What?"

"Wishing we had an hour," Roman said, thick tongue flicking out across his lower hip. His hands had frozen on his tie. "Damn."

More awake now, warm all over, Dean bent over his bag and wiggled his butt hack and forth.

Roman made a noise that sounded a little frustrated, a low growl and, "Boy, if you don't cover that thing up right now, I'm gonna make you pay for it tonight."

"Uh-huh." Dean ran a hand over one of his asscheeks as he grabbed a pair of underwear. The tenderizing Roman had give his butt yesterday left it a little sore today, mildly, but Dean found he liked the little bit of pain - liked it about as much as he liked Roman watching him.

He made a show out of pulling his underwear on, wiggling his hips and slowly tugging up and up, until he was completely covered. The elastic snapped against his skin, and he shot Roman another smile.

Roman gave him a look that promised him something _later_.

He couldn't wait.

As much as he wanted to keep fucking around, though, he didn't; the mention of food earlier woke up his appetite, so he padded to the closed and grabbed his golf clothes out. Didn't waste a lot of time ripping off the tags and throwing them on.

While the white-trimmed blue polo looked fucking good on him - in his admittedly biased opinion - he caught himself wishing he'd grabbed black slacks. With the white hat and blue and white shoes, he thought he looked kind of dorky.

As opposed to Roman, who, in a red polo shirt and black slacks, just looked _obscenely_ hot.

And knew it - the fucker.

He gave Dean a slow once-over, though, and smiled again. "Nice. Real nice. That is a good look on you."

The back of Dean's neck heated up. So did his face. Again. "'Course it is," he said, gruff to cover that weird shit his stomach was doing. "I make everything look good. Told you that. You look good, too. That red. I like it."

Roman puffed up. "Thanks. Let's go grab something to eat."

"Food!" Dean said. He'd never been so grateful for a distraction. "Oh, hey, how was your meeting?"

"Still no fim yes on it," Roman said, but he didn't sound all that down about it. He headed out of the bedroom. "I'm about ninety-nine percent sure we'll get it tomorrow, but every time I say that, Hunter Helmsley throws a wrench into our plans. Good news is, I think my dad's got it narrowed down. Better news is - and I think you'll like this - that I managed to talk my dad out of splitting the company up once we buy it. Instead of selling it off, we're gonna look at trying to salvage it."

That gave Dean pause. "For real?"

"Yeah." Roman led the way up the hall and into the main living area, where Dean immediately spotted a brown paper sack on the dining table. "We're gonna see what we can do to take Antonio's idea about the portable MRI machines and build on that. Which - by the way, that's thanks in part to you."

Dean paused over by the bar, surprised. "Me? What do you mean?"

Roman meandered that way himself, pausing in front of where Dean stood. "We had another incident with Hunter. My dad wanted me to keep on lying. I hit a wall. Couldn't do it. Told him I'd rather walk away. But then I remembered what you said about Antonio being hyped about those machines. He said the same to me, too. I was thinking how stupid it is to throw away something important like that just for money. So I told my old man either we go legit with this and try to build this company or I'm walking away. No more lying to these people. I'm done."

"You stood up to your dad?" Dean asked, jaw nearly dropping. _Holy shit_. "What did he say?"

"He fought me on it," Roman said, leaning on a stool, "but I brought up the family's legacy, and that got him to see where I was going. We've gotta do some number-crunching, but I think the risk is worth it. This is a good thing. So. Thank you."

"Why are you thanking _me_?" Dean said, shaking his head. Perplexed. His hands felt cold suddenly, but his heart was thump-thumping away. Roman's eyes were warm. "I didn't do anything. Shit, you're the one who stood up to your dad."

Roman settled two big hands on Dean's shoulders. "Because you've been a pain in my ass about this stuff all week, and it got me thinking I'm better than this. I am. I'm not a liar, and I don't want to be. But if you hadn't said anything, I probably would've just let it go. Gone with what my dad wanted because it was easier."

"I…" Dean cleared his throat. "I'm glad you didn't. That's, uh, that's good."

He meant it.

Maybe he hadn't been that naive after all.

"Yeah," Roman said, thumbs brushing Dean's collarbones. "So I was planning on just hanging out at the club on the golf course with everybody for drinks, but I think I'd rather take you out to dinner. As a thank you. I'd like to do something else for you, but something tells me you wouldn't let me."

"You don't need to do anything for me," Dean said. "I really didn't do anything Roman."

"Yeah, you really did." Roman held Dean's gaze, steady and calm. Magnetic. Dean didn't think he could have looked away if he wanted to. "You've done more for me than you think. I feel like I've been in a rut for a long time, and you helped pull me out of it. I'm thinking about building things instead of tearing them down. I'm thinking about maybe taking some time off to do some of the things I want to do. I'm the one deciding those things, yeah, but you're the one putting the damn ideas in my head. These past few days have been some the best I've had in a long time. That's why I want to do something for you."

"You think you haven't done anything for me?" Dean managed. HIs pulse was racing, hammering so hard he was amazed Roman couldn't hear it. "I don't have to go back to that fucking corner anymore. I can find a better place for myself. I'm thinkin' about wrestling school - seriously. I want to. You put _that_ shit in my head. And I may not exactly _fit_ in those places but I've gotten to do some shit I never got to do before. See some art 'n shit I never would have." _Told me I was worth something_. "You don't owe me shit."

He watched Roman's tongue dart out again. Made himself look away as Roman said, "You serious about the wrestling school thing?"

"I am, yeah," Dean said. "It's what I want to do."

"Good," Roman said, squeezing Dean's shoulders, smiling. "That's real good. I'm happy for you, man."

"..yeah."

And then it happened.

This charged beat of silence where they just stood there staring at each other, neither one sure what to say or willing to move.

In that moment, that his little thread of self-control - the one that had been keeping him from crossing the line - snapped, and he thought: _Fuck this_.

Because he wanted to know what it felt like to kiss this guy.

So he did it.

He leaned in and just went for it, mouth closing over Roman's in a kiss that felt like a fucking lifetime in coming. Couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted anything so fucking much.

But for a scary second, Roman didn't react at all, mouth tight and dry and unmoving, hands clutching Dean's shoulders hard enough to bruise - like he wanted to stop it.

He didn't stop it.

His mouth relaxed, his arms slid around Dean's back, and _fuck_ he was _there_ , taking control and kissing Dean like his life depended on it, all soft hungry lips and an insistent tongue licking its way into Dean's mouth. One of his hands found its way to Dean's face, cupping an overheated cheek and rolling his thumb over Dean's cheekbone.

Dean let his own hands drift down to Roman's ass and grabbed a couple handfuls - just because he could.

Because he wanted to.

Because _fuck it._

There was nothing better than being kissed by somebody who knew what the fuck they were doing, and man, Roman did. He backed Dean up against the bar and kissed him until they were both breathless and hard, until that stupid voice telling Dean this was a bad idea shut the fuck right up, until all he really wanted to do was say _fuck golf_ and drag Roman into the bedroom and get naked.

Do this right, if they were gonna do it.

They weren't, though - not now.

Eventually, Roman peeled himself away and rested his forehead on Dean's. He was just as warm as Dean was, almost fever-hot; his heart was pounding the same way Dean's was, too. They were standing so close Dean could feel it.

And all he could think was that he wanted to do it again.

Roman's hand drifted around to the back of Dean's neck. "What about your rules?"

"Fuck 'em," Dean said, and kissed him again.

He'd regret it later, he was sure, but for now, he just closed his eyes and let himself enjoy it.

_Fuck it_.


	10. Afternoon/Night Five

" **New Tricks"  
**_X. Afternoon/Night Five_

As kisses went, each and every one felt like an accomplishment.

A hard-won victory.

All the sweeter for it: the way Dean melted into them and let Roman in like it was the most natural thing in the world made it completely worth the wait.

It'd been a long time since just kissing someone had gotten him hard, but there he was, his dick pressing all hot and urgent against Dean's. Dean refused to stand still, which didn't help anything. He ground himself into Roman's erection while his hands squeezed Roman's ass like he was checking fruit for firmness.

He didn't want to stop now that he'd had a taste, but he knew if he didn't, he _wouldn't_.

As the host of the golf tournament, he had to be there on time and ready to go.

The amount of effort it took him to pry himself away was nothing short of Herculean.

Dean made this sound somewhere between a quiet whine and a groan of disappointment.

Roman backed up three full steps, not stopping until he was out of arm's reach. He held Dean's eyes the entire way, searching them for signs of regret or upset. All he really saw was Dean slouched against the bar all flushed and foggy, the beginnings of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

That just happened.

It what had to be the understatement of the decade, Roman said, "You kissed me."

"Oh, really, Captain Obvious?" Dean snorted. Unsubtle hands tugged at the front of his slacks. "I didn't notice."

"You said you don't-"

"I know what I said," Dean cut him off. "Don't make a big deal about it. I wanted to kiss you, so I did. All it was. I might do it again later. I don't know." The smile faded into something more sober, more serious. "You're leaving tomorrow, so let's not… Don't make it a thing. It's fun for this one job. That's all. Leave it at that, huh?

The words _I don't want to leave_ made way to Roman's tongue, but broke there. Died. He cleared his throat. "Whatever you want to do. That's your call. We don't have to do that again if you don't want to, but if you do, that's good with me. No big deal."

He was so full of shit.

So was Dean.

 _I wanted to kiss you_.

( _So did I._ )

How the _hell_ was it not a big deal?

Casual as anything, Dean swiped a hand over his chin. "Cool. Lunch? We gotta go pretty quick, huh?"

"Oh, yeah." Roman wheeled away and hurried over to the table. _Not a thing_ , he reminded himself. _It's not a thing_. "I got ham and turkey. Didn't know what you liked."

"That's fine," Dean said. "I'm really not all that picky. Just don't get me olives and I'm good."

Roman glanced around at that. "Don't like olives?"

Dean paused behind a chair and rested his hands on it. "Oh, I like 'em fine on a pizza or in a Bloody Mary or something, but I just don't like 'em in sandwiches. I dunno. Makes the taste weird to me."

"I have a thing about onions on a sandwich," Roman offered, passing one of the two sandwiches over. "A few are fine, but I hate when I get a sandwich that's got so many you can't taste anything else."

"I get that way with sauerkraut on a Reuben," Dean said. He pulled his chair out, sat down, and unwrapped his sandwich. "A little so I taste it is good, but some places put so much on it you can't taste the rest of the sandwich."

Nodding, Roman sat down himself and dug into his lunch. "I hear that. I'm a light sauerkraut guy myself. It's kind of like pizza sauce for me. I like enough I can taste it, but not so much the pizza is drowning in it."

"Yeah, me too." Dean took a bite, swallowed it, and narrowed his eyes at Roman. "So what do I gotta know about this caddying stuff?"

"Mm." Roman finished chewing and pointed. "Yeah, guess that's probably something you're gonna need to know, huh?"

Glad for the reminder, and glad for something to talk about that _wasn't_   what just happened, Roman gave Dean a brief overview of what their whole afternoon would be like. Since it was a tournament, they'd have to stay until the end, but Roman's foursome was teeing off last, so they wouldn't have to wait around all that long. Which was a good thing, because he wanted tonight to be for just himself and Dean. No distractions, no interruptions, no anything - just the two of them, and one last night together.

The thought made Roman's stomach twist again.

Last night.

And then tomorrow…

To Florida. Parents. A have-to date with a guy he considered a brother. Probably enough work talk to make his head spin.

A place never far from his mind, but right now, the last place he wanted to go.

Across the table, Dean smiled about something, bright eyes and dimples, and the words _I don't want to leave_ wedged themselves in Roman's throat again.

* * *

When he was a kid, Dean tried to watch golf on TV once.

Seemed like it was just a bunch of people walking around hitting balls off the ground with metal sticks.

_Boring._

Never did try to watch it again after that.

He got the basic rules: hit the ball into the hole in as few strokes as possible. Try to keep the ball on the fairways - the short-clipped grass in the middle - and out of the rough grass at the edges or the sand or the water. The actual hole was on what was called a green, and that was where the golfer tried to putt the ball into the hole.

This was a little tournament with six teams of four.

The team with the lowest combined score won.

The single golfer with the lowest score also won.

Since nobody on Roman's team - Roman, Seth, and the Cesaros - wanted to drive a golf cart, they'd walk. Fortunately, Dean didn't have to actually carry Roman's clubs; Roman apparently had a cart with a couple of wheels on it, so Dean would roll his clubs and Willard Cesaro's from hole to hole. If anyone hit the ball into the sand, he'd rake their footprints out so the sand was smooth. He'd also keep score and watch where everybody's shots went in case somebody's ball ventured into really rough areas.

According to Roman, it could be a pain in the ass to find a ball in heavy grass or a wooded area.

From the sounds of things, it wouldn't be as boring _doing_ it as it had been watching it on TV.

He hoped.

The ride over to the course was a quiet one, broken only by the sound of the sports talk show on the radio. Dean watched the city blur by through the passenger window, content not to talk right now. Wasn't really anything that needed to be said that couldn't wait until later.

Surprised him how little regret he felt about that kiss.

It was what it was.

If he was smart, he'd just leave it at that, and not let himself get dragged in any deeper tonight, but _that_ was already a lost fucking cause.

No way he wouldn't want a round two later.

He was a fucking idiot.

This was probably going to come back and bite him in the ass; he guessed he'd just have to deal with that when the time came - shove that shit into a box and throw it up on a high shelf somewhere deep in his mind and forget about it.

Get on with his life.

The golf course came into view, these sprawling expanses of emerald green and small manmade lakes and little pockets of pale sand scattered everywhere. He'd been by them many times in his life, but they tended to just wash past him in a smear of green. Now that he actually stopped to look at one, it seemed massive. The people he spotted on it looked like ants.

Pretty nice, though, and a nice day outside for it, he found as he waited near the car's trunk for Roman to fetch his clubs out. Calm and clear. Smelled like fresh-cut grass.

He tugged his cap down a little lower over his eyes to shade them from the sun, wishing like he'd remembered to grab his shades.

Roman's golf cart was just this two-wheel deal that the bag was strapped into. The wheels were good-sized - about ten inches tall - and the cart's handle was just metal covered in foam. All Dean had to do was tilt the cart a little bit and the thing rolled smooth as anything.

That was good because it meant this should be low-exertion. His leg muscles were still pretty tight after the run this morning. Wasn't up for anything really strenuous right now.

They headed across the parking lot and over to the pro shop, outside of which Dean spotted Seth waiting with the Cesaros and a group of eighteen or twenty people. The first words out of Roman's mouth as he approached everyone were, "Hey, sorry we're a little late. Hope you haven't been waiting long."

Dean hung back a little ways with Roman's clubs, scoping everyone out.

It was fairly eclectic mix of people, young and old, men and women. Some obvious couples. All of them dressed basically like Roman and Dean were in collared shirts in various colors. (He actually liked Seth's: it was white with a black collar, black sleeves, and had a black stripe that faded left to right across the chest. It was the least-plain out of all of them; everyone else just had a solid color.) Some had hats, some had visors, and some - like Roman and Seth - just had shades.

At least he didn't look out of place here.

Sure felt it, though.

Again.

The pro shop had kind of an overhanging roof that provided some shade, so he stepped back in it and turned to look out at the course, mostly just to give himself something to do other than stand around like a jackass. Some people off to the right were all lined up in this one area with buckets of golf balls beside them. Looked like they were just warming up or something. All of them had big golf bags like Roman did, all set off to the side; most of them had carts, too.

Somebody cleared their throat beside him, startling him. He hadn't even heard anybody come over.

It was Seth, who'd wheeled his own clubs over and left them beside Roman's.

Roman was nowhere to be found.

As if reading Dean's mind, Seth said, quietly, "He's inside with the Cesaros getting everything set up. Which is fine because we need to talk."

Dean glanced around again. The rest of the group was well out of earshot, all of them gathered together toward the other end of the building, chatting away. "Yeah, we do."

Seth's dark eyes narrowed at him. He was taller than Dean thought. This close, they were pretty much the same height. Seth was a fair bit heavier, well-muscled. Intense. He looked like he was counting the atoms on Dean's face or something. "Why did you tell Roman I wanted to hire you? I told you not to."

"You insulted me," Dean said, leaning sideways against the building. He turned his attention back out onto the course. "It pissed me off. How did you know I told him? Did he tell you? He wasn't supposed to. I told him I'd deal with you myself."

"'Deal with me'?" Seth moved a little closer. "How did I insult you?"

After one last check to make sure no one was close enough to overhear them, Dean said, "You wanted me to drag my ass across town for a few hours for seventy-five lousy dollars. 'The going rate'? In the first place, I'm worth a hell of a lot more than that. In the second place, on a bad night I can make about three times that in a few hours on the block. Most nights, I make five times that. And I don't have to leave. The answer is no, anyway. I'm out after this job."

"Look, I wasn't trying to insult you," Seth said. "I didn't say we couldn't negotiate. What's Roman paying you? I can give you same hourly rate. That's fair, isn't it? I'll want a little bit more from you, but as well-laid as Roman's looked all week, I know you're worth it. I can tell. I'm sorry, all right? I really didn't mean to insult you. I had too much wine at dinner and my mouth kind of got away from me."

Dean watched someone hit a golf ball way up in the air, and ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth. Turning down a few hundred more bucks was probably a stupid idea, but now that the prospect of this all being over was in front of him, going back to closing his eyes and wishing himself away while some dude railed on him from behind had no appeal. _Less_ than no appeal. If he never had to approach a car only to have some asshole shout homophobic insults at him and speed off, it would be too fucking soon. If he never had to wedge himself down into the footwell of some car to suck a dude off again, it'd be too fucking soon. If he never got bent over a table and fucked until he bled, it would be too fucking soon.

"I mean, I appreciate the apology and all," he finally said, "but the answer is still no. I'm out."

 _Fuck that shit_.

"You're really gonna turn down a last chance to make good money," Seth said. Petulant fucker. "And one of the best fucks of your life?"

"Yep."

A dramaqueen sigh, and, "You don't know what you're missing, but fine. Have it your way. Do you know anybody good who _is_ for hire? I'm tired of scraping the bottom of the barrel at clubs. I need somebody with stamina - who can keep up with me. I tend to go hard."

"Uh." Dean shot Seth a disbelieving look, thinking Seth had to be kidding, but sure enough, the guy was serious. "No, I don't. Jesus. Aren't you engaged or something?"

"Not you, too," Seth muttered. "That's none of your damn business, so just forget it. Forget I even asked." He started to walk away, but paused and turned back. "I talked to Roman's dad today. He told me Roman's taking Finn out on a date when he gets home this week. His dad's really excited. Thinks they'll be a great couple."

"Bullshit," Dean said, shaking his head. "Roman told me he wasn't interested."

"That's not what I heard," Seth told him, grinning. "Ask Roman yourself. He's agreed to take Finn out to dinner. Like I told you yesterday, they're a great match for each other. Finn's successful and comes from a good family. Plus he's not a gold digger or some hooker off the street Roman's gonna forget in a day."

Dean bared his teeth in something that wasn't exactly a grin. Effective, though, because it chased the smug-ass look right off Seth's weasel face. "He ain't gonna forget me, sunshine, and I ain't gonna forget him. What the hell makes you think I even care if he's dating someone else?" It was probably bullshit, anyway, but he couldn't exactly deny he didn't like the idea. "I'm just a hooker he met on the street, remember? Long as I get paid, I don't care. His life."

Whatever no doubt witty response Seth would have made went _un_ made because his cell phone rang. Sounded like AC/DC or Motörhead or something. Heavy metal. Seth's hand flew to his pocket, and he almost ran away, speeding off a ways into the parking lot. His clubs stood abandoned next to Roman's.

Dean straightened away from the wall because when he looked around, Roman was making a beeline over, his face a fucking thunderhead.

"What's up?" Dean asked, dragging the clubs a little closer to himself. Like a shield.

"What was he doing?" Roman demanded. He paused on the edge of the sidewalk, arms folded over his barrel of a chest. The look he shot Seth, who was standing over by a couple cars, reminded Dean of a bull about to charge. "Why was he over here? What did he say?"

Bristling at the tone, Dean folded his own arms over his chest. "Nothin you need to worry about."

"Dean-"

"I told you I'd handle him."

"What did he say?"

"Before or after I offered to blow him?" Dean asked. His mouth was like a wild dog sometimes, unpredictable. Sometimes it stayed quiet, but other times it broke off its leash and did something stupid.

Like that.

Roman's eyes narrowed to flinty points. "You had better be kidding."

Dean squared his shoulders. "What if I'm not? What if he apologized and offered to pay me a hell of a lot more? What if I said yes? I'm a grown-ass man and can kinda make my own decisions. I mean, I'm totally full of shit and none of that actually happened, but the point is, it could have. It wouldn't in a million fuckin' years, but it could have. Wouldn't have been anything you can do about it."

"Dean-"

"What the hell is your problem?" Dean cut him off. "I've been handling my own shit my whole life. Why are you interrogating me? All I did was tell him no when he asked if we could work something out. I'm not interested. That was all. Why are you acting like _I_ did something wrong here?"

The shot must have found the net and swished through because Roman's expression changed in a hurry from fuming to sheepish. "All right, okay." He held up a hand. "My bad. I'm sorry. You're right. You didn't do anything wrong. I just didn't want him bothering you. I told him to leave you the hell alone. I'm not happy he ignored me on that."

"Ya don't say," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "It's handled. Don't worry about it." Over Roman's shoulder, he saw the Cesaros headed their way. "We got company coming. What are we even doing?"

To his credit, Roman shifted smoothly back to his usual self by the time the Cesaros joined them. "Oh, we're all set to start the tournament in about fifteen minutes. But our group is going last - I think I told you that - so we're gonna go hit some balls to warm up. You can, too, if you want."

"I've never even tried it before," Dean admitted, smiling a greeting at Antonio and his grandfather.

"Then you're in for a treat," Antonio said, extending a hand. He had probably the friendliest smile Dean had ever seen. "Hello again, Dean. Good to see you."

"Likewise," Dean said, shaking hands with Antonio and Willard in turn. He meant it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roman frowning off into the parking lot, where Seth stood between a couple cars, still on the phone.

This was gonna be a long afternoon.

* * *

Teaching Dean how to swing a golf club proved to be a good distraction.

Roman was by no means a great golfer - he considered anything under 90 a great round - but Dean made him look like a total pro by comparison.

The club had one of the biggest driving ranges Roman had ever seen, so once everyone got set up with their buckets of golf balls, Roman took his own and Dean down to the far end of the range, well away from anyone. Talking while other people were trying to concentrate on their swings was pretty rude.

Fortunately, there were about five empty spaces between them and the nearest golfer, which gave them plenty of privacy.

When Roman handed over a five-wood, Dean eyed the club like it was a snake about to bite him and held it between two fingers the way he might hold a baby's dirty diaper. After he got done laughing about it, Roman showed Dean how and where to stand, how to hold the club-

("Don't grip your club too tight," Roman said.

Dean shot a sly over from under the brim of his cap. "I'd rather _you_ grip my club."

Chuckling, Roman shook his head. Walked right into that one. "You made it longer than I thought you would. I expected you to be making dirty jokes the second we stepped out of the car."

"I mean, come on. I got _some_ class. I don't think a group of strangers would really appreciate me talking about, y'know, things going into holes. Like balls. Or, y'know, flagpoles."

"No, I'm sure they don't. Anyway," he went on quickly, "you don't want to grip the _golf club_ too tight because it can make you pull your shot."

"Nothin' worse than shootin' where you don't mean to," Dean said agreeably, eyes glinting with capital T trouble. "I accidentally got some up my nose one time, and lemme tell ya, that is the fuckin' _worst_."

Roman actually covered his eyes with a hand.

And Dean just snickered.)

-and how to swing the thing so he wouldn't break the club head off or hit somebody.

Dean's first few swings were just hilariously awkward, like he was trying to do something between swinging at a baseball and slapping at a hockey puck.

It completely gave Roman an excuse to step up right behind him, press in close, and lean over him to make the motion with him. And he completely took it, too, pressing his hips right up against Dean's ass and plastering his chest down across Dean's back, hands down on the club over Dean's.

Not exactly _appropriate_ course behavior, but how else was he supposed to show Dean how the swing should feel? Didn't seem like Dean really minded, if the way he pressed himself back was anything to go by.

At some point, though, it occurred to Roman that it probably wasn't a good idea to dry-hump Dean in public like this, so he backed off and let Dean struggle with his awkward swing. Eventually, Dean actually hit the ball and sent it bouncing down the driving range. Three tries later, he actually made decent contact with one, sending it a good ways through the air. It bounced down by one of the trees about a hundred-fifty yards away.

"Not bad," Roman said, clapping Dean's shoulder.

But as he did, he happened to glance down the row of everyone on the driving range.

Seth stood in his own tee box, his golf club beside him like a cane, glaring down at his phone.

Something about that left Roman uneasy.

* * *

He'd worried, Roman had, that Dean might be bored just wheeling around a couple of golf bags, but that fear proved groundless once they hit the course.

At the first tee, Dean stood aside with everyone and watched each golfer - Roman, Seth, Antonio, and Willard Cesaro - step up to take their shots. After Seth sent the golf ball flying way off to the left off of the fairway, Dean nudged Roman's side and asked, "So how does that happen?"

Since Roman had to go take his shot, it was Antonio who answered, "Usually holding the club too tight. Tension."

They all watched Seth walk over to his golf bag and drop the club carelessly into his bag, disgust on his face.

Roman squared up to take his first shot. He could hit the hell out of a ball, no doubt, but he usually hit the ball like Seth just did - way off to one side of the fairly or the other. In eighteen holes, he was usually lucky if he made six fairways.

This time, though, his ball flew straight and true, landing almost dead-center of the fairway.

Hell of a good start.

Even better, the Cesaros between them kind of took Dean under their wing, and, as they made their way down to where Willard's golf ball landed - it was the closest - they explained some of the finer points of golf to a game Dean. Dean asked a lot of questions - "So what happens if you hit it into a tree?" "What happens if it goes in the water?" "How you get it out of the sand?" - and it from the sounds of things he was pretty into what was going on. Roman even pitched in a few answers, explaining what a golfer was supposed to do if they accidentally took a chunk of grass out of the fairway, and a few other things.

It was probably eighty degrees out and not a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind.

Perfect golf weather.

About the only dark cloud was Seth, who walked by himself, still glaring down at his cell phone.

That was unusual: Seth was pretty fanatical about making sure everybody had their damn phones off when they were on the course. Most golf courses required people to either turn them off or leave them. Nothing worse than a someone getting a call in the middle of somebody else taking a swing.

But Seth wouldn't come close enough for Roman to ask him anything, was the problem - not on the first hole.

On the second was when he got his chance.

Willard, a slightly stooped but very distinguished-looking man, could drive the ball pretty well, but on this particular hole - a narrow par four that was flanked by dense trees on both sides - he managed to hit his ball deep into the trees on the right. It looked like it almost went out of bounds.

After everyone else took their first shots, Dean and Antonio disappeared into the trees with Willard to go try to find his ball, leaving Roman to make his way over to where Seth stood staring off at a golf ball buried in tall rough grass up ahead.

It was his. Once again he'd missed the fairway and before he'd stalked off with his clubs, he'd slammed his driver back into the bag hard enough to make it rattle.

He didn't react when Roman cleared his throat. "So what's up with you today, Seth? I can't remember the last time I've seen you miss a fairway."

This was not what he wanted to ask, but there was something in Seth's tight expression that warranted careful handling. A live grenade liable to detonate without warning. Seth blew out a sigh. "I'm just having an off day. It happens. It's fine."

"You've been having an off day all day," Roman commented. "What's up, Seth? Seriously? Something on your mind? You're really not yourself today."

Seth kept right on glaring at the ball on the ground ten yards away. "I got a deal I'm trying to work on for another client, but it's falling apart. The client is not happy. He's… It's not my fault. It wasn't a good deal to try to make. But the client is blaming me for things turning out the way they are. He's been up my ass for the last two days about it. There's nothing I can do. I just do the paperwork, but this client is… He's threatening to take his business somewhere else and... It's not my fault. I didn't even do anything wrong. He's the one who decided to try to make this stupid deal. I told him it wouldn't work."

Roman frowned at that. "Who's the client? Sounds like a real asshole."

"He's usually not," Seth said. "I've worked with him before. It's just in this case, things aren't going his way, and somehow that's my fault."

"Deals fall through all the time," Roman said. He felt a little like a blind man groping through a dark cave because he really wasn't sure how to navigate this. Seth was usually cocksure and unflappable. It was weird to see him looking like he was on the verge of having a meltdown. "Ours have and we didn't blame you. How the hell could it even _be_ your fault? Like you said, all you're doing is the paperwork."

"I know."

"Let him have his temper tantrum, then," Roman said, shrugging. "If you lose him as a client, who cares? You got us. You know we got enough work to keep you busy for a lifetime."

It was meant to cheer Seth up, but if anything, he just looked more unhappy. "...yeah." He toed the grass and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I know I wasn't supposed to talk to your - to Dean, but he told me the same thing you did. I won't bother him anymore."

"I appreciate that," Roman said evenly. "I saw you watching us earlier."

"You were kinda all over each other. Thought I might need to go get a hose." Seth shot him a weak smile. "You're into this guy. I've never seen you act like that before. No wonder you don't want anybody on your turf."

"He's not…" Roman rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. There's something. Maybe. Kind of a moot point, since I'm leaving tomorrow."

"And dating Finn, huh? I talked to your dad."

"I'm taking Finn on _a_ date because I have to - not because I want to." Dean emerged from the trees with Antonio just then, and gave Roman a quick thumbs-up. "Trust me, if it were up to me, I wouldn't."

"You'd rather date _him_?" Seth asked, flicking his chin at Dean, who pulled a low-hanging pine branch back.

"Maybe."

A grunt of a laugh, and, "He's got you good, doesn't he? Look, be careful, all right? I've been around enough clingy prostitutes to know you can't trust what they say. They'll say or do anything to get the money out of you. I made that mistake once when I was naive kid. I thought she was into me. I wanted to take her away and marry her. All she wanted was my money. She kept stringing me along. Then one day she took a bunch of my cash and disappeared. That's obviously not gonna happen here, but don't fall into the trap of thinking this is anything for him other than a paycheck. You might not be that into Finn, but he's the real deal. Your dad's right - give Finn a chance. Give it more than one date. Give it time. You think I loved Nikki when I first met her? I hated her guts. But over time, something developed and now I really do care about her."

"You do, huh?" Roman asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

A golf ball suddenly flew out from behind the trees and streaked out toward the green. It skimmed across the ground, hit the lip of a sand trap and fell in.

Seth cleared his throat. "I'm not gonna cheat on her when I'm married."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Roman said. He started down to where Willard was finally making his way out of the trees. "You never told me you hooked up with a prostitute. When was this?"

"That year you went back down to Florida and I stayed to work in New York," Seth said, wheeling his his cart behind him.

Right after they'd broken up. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I dunno. Just not something I ever wanted anybody to know. How stupid I used to be. I'm not that kid anymore. I don't let people pull shit like that on me anymore."

He still sounded off, but a little better than he had. Still, Roman glanced over. "You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, I will be, once the dust on all this settles."

"Well, if you need anything, let me know."

"Thanks."

It was only after Roman made it to Dean's side and exchanged smiles that he realized Seth never even told him who the client was.

He decided it wasn't important.

After all, Seth still had the Reigns family.

* * *

It was, Dean decided about halfway through the round, more fun being on a golf course than watching the shit on TV.

Turned out there was actually a lot more strategy behind it than just, 'Hit the ball toward the hole.' Because greens weren't completely level. And the holes weren't all totally straight. Some had bends in them - called "dog legs" for some reason - and others had lakes and sand traps that they had to play around.

Roman, Antonio, and Willard all seemed to enjoy explaining how they'd play each shot, like how hard they'd hit it and how they'd try to angle their clubs to get the ball to do a certain thing. Antonio was by far the best out of all of them. His grandfather was pretty good, too, but he had a tremor in one hand that sometimes made him hit the ball the wrong way. Roman was...okay, but after he hit the first fairway, it was a while before he hit another. (Dean found himself wandering through the trees with Roman more than once to find the ball. Kind of made him feel like a Retriever.)

Seth kinda was off in his own world, but apparently he and Roman had talked through everything when Dean was getting his leg all scratched up trying to find Willard's ball. For the most part, Dean ignored Seth altogether, but every now and again he'd glance over and catch Seth fiddling with his cell phone, mind clearly not on the game.

Showed, too, because in the first six holes, he hit into the water twice, hit it over the green once, hit it into the sand traps three times, and lost it in the trees once.

Wasn't until about the eighth hole that Seth actually hit the ball on the fairway and made it in under par.

Everybody else was having a good time, so Dean focused on that.

Plus, he'd had a hell of a lot of fun learning how to swing a club earlier, what with Roman practically humping him on the driving range. That was a nice thing to go back and think about whenever he got bored.

And now that Roman's beef with Seth appeared be settled, Roman seemed to relax.

He was smiling a lot, that warm smile like he was smiling at the arcade yesterday - that _I'm into this_ smile that made Dean's insides go all wormy. Lightened his whole damn face and made him look like a normal dude instead of the untouchable businessman he'd been this morning.

In Dean's admittedly biased opinion, Roman looked hot as hell on the course here, in his black and red, muscles bulging out of the sleeves and his tattoo flexing every time he swung the golf club.

Seemed to get along really well with Willard, too, the pair of them often moving to one side to chat about something. Or laugh about it. The elder Cesaro - who, for a near eighty-year-old was spry as hell - seemed to be in very good spirits the entire time.

Antonio was in fine form himself, keeping Dean entertained with stories of his mountain-climbing adventures and explaining how it was his goal to eventually take on Mount Everest. He also wanted to learn how to fly a plane. Try base jumping. And he wanted to go visit impoverished countries to see what other technologies he could bring over - especially for water delivery systems and basic medical care. Guy just seemed to kind of want to do everything, and his grandfather looked on with a proud smile, like he was sure Antonio could do it all if he put his mind to it.

"You made the right call to work with him," Dean muttered to Roman on their way to the eleventh hole.

Roman nodded. "I think so too."

While Dean ended up standing around a bit, he actually was all over the place, hunting down wayward balls and raking the sand traps and keeping everybody's bags out of the way.

It was just after five by the time they made it to the eighteenth hole, and as he stood off to the side watching Antonio tee off, Dean was surprised to find he was actually a little tired. Between the long run this morning and all the walking around this afternoon, he'd gotten way more exercise than he was used to. Felt pretty good, though, and just because he could, he smiled over at Roman, who smiled back without hesitation.

Antonio won the round easily with a 76. Willard and Roman tied with an 82. (Roman seemed happy with that, admitting to Dean that he rarely ever shot less than 85. This was a good round for him.) Seth made a strong comeback and actually kicked everybody asses on the last nine holes (didn't miss a single fairway, and made three ducks or birdies or whatever it was called), but because his first nine were so bad, he ended up with an 84.

After all was said and done, the four of them all trudged back to the clubhouse, where everyone else from this tournament had already finished and was waiting. Dean parked Roman and Willard's clubs in the rack outside, and followed them inside. Roman passed off the scorecards to somebody, and then took Dean and the others to take a seat at a table in the lounge - an old-fashioned feeling bar with a bunch of TVs playing various sports all around, dark wood tables and dark red carpet.

"We can't stay long," Roman said as he sat down. "Dean and I have a dinner reservation in an hour."

Dean pulled out the chair to Roman's left, raising eyebrows at that.

"Oh?" Antonio asked before Dean could say anything. He pulled a chair out for his grandfather, and then sat down himself "Where are you off to?"

"A little Italian place not far from my hotel," Roman said. "They make the best carbonara. Next to my mom's, anyway. Her grandparents migrated from Italy right before World War II. I get spoiled for good Italian cooking. But they do all right out here."

"You're gonna have your fill of it when you go home tomorrow, aren't you?" Seth asked from the end of the table.

Dean wanted to kick him for that, but folded his hands on the table instead.

Roman, meanwhile, leaned back and patted his stomach. "Never can have too much. Oh," he said, sitting forward, businesslike, "I just wanted to ask, Willard - we're meeting tomorrow at eight. Do you want me to have my dad in on it, too?"

Willard shook his head slowly. "Should not be necessary. "I like what you've shown me today, and I think we can be doing business together. Tomorrow, we'll have a letter of intent drafted and ready to discuss. As long as all agree to the terms, then I can see no reason this why sale cannot go forward. You and your father have already begun making plans, and I find this quite encouraging. I'm eager to see where we're going from here."

Under the table, Dean nudged Roman's leg, like _Way to go!_

Roman nudged him back and smiled a little. "Great. Seth and I will be ready, then."

To Dean, he actually looked excited. Happy. Somebody who knew he was doing the right thing. It was miles away from the guy he'd been two days ago. Dean couldn't help feeling a little satisfied as he sat back and took a sip of the beer that had appeared on the table in front of him. Not like it was totally his doing or anything, but by the same token, if he hadn't said anything, Roman probably wouldn't have changed his mind.

Something really good had actually come out of all this - besides sex and money.

 _How about that_?

About fifteen minutes later, while Dean was busy watching a basketball game and everyone else was talking business, a dark-haired woman came up to the table and handed Roman a piece of paper. There was a dude behind her who had a couple of small trophies in hand. The dark-haired woman had an envelope and a certificate in hand.

Roman smiled at them and stood up; without any effort whatsoever on his part, he had command of the room. Every single person in there tuned to look at him. He didn't move away from the table. Didn't need to. Didn't even need to raise his voice when he announced the results of the tournament.

Some other team won first place (Roman's was third), and there was a golfer who got a 73, beating Antonio's 76.

The trophies got handed out, along the envelopes - either cash or gift cards - and certificates.

Before he sat down, Roman said, "Drinks are on me tonight, so everyone enjoy. Unfortunately, I have a reservation to make, so I have to leave, but you all have fun. I'll see some of you next time I'm around this way. The rest - I'll be in touch. Thanks for coming everybody."

Everyone raised their glasses and said their thanks.

Dean just sat back and admired the view of a smiling Roman waving to everyone.

* * *

They didn't bother to go back to the hotel to change, instead just packing Roman's clubs up and heading straight to a small building half a mile away from the hotel.

Kind of a cool-looking place. Interesting sort of old-school architecture with columns built into the facade, red brick walls and gray trim, and a black awning the same shape as the one that hung over Regal's door. Big picture window in the front, too, that revealed what looked like a casual dining room. Nobody was super dressy, so Dean figured his polo and slacks would be fine if Roman's were.

(Although he did have a small grass stain on one knee from where he tripped over a tree root.)

Inside, the restaurant wasn't all that big. Most of the tables in the middle of the floor were only big enough for two people. Some toward the back were bigger, and there were some booths on the sides, but the aisles between the tables were narrow to the point Dean almost had to turn sideways to move by them. He almost bumped a table with his hip.

Really nothing special Dean could see about the place, though. There weren't many decorations - just some bland watercolor seascape paintings and a little bit of what he guessed was sailing rope twisting along the top edge of the wall. Blue and white curtains. Pale wood tables. Plain floors.

They were seated in a secluded booth at the rear corner, away from most everyone else. It had a lit candle in the center, a tall white thing in a round blue base. Dean swept his cap off his head and carded fingers through hair that felt all sweaty and gross. Probably made a mess of it, but he didn't care. Roman looked a little less than a hundred percent himself, bits of his hair trying to escape the bun.

 _Super_ romantic.

The server who came to the table to bring their menus and explain all the specials didn't seem to care. Roman ordered them a couple beers and some water, and then flipped open his menu.

Dean followed suit, and was relieved to see that, even though the names of the dishes weren't in English, the descriptions below them were.

"Everything's good here," Roman told him. "It's homestyle Italian. They have more than pasta, too, if you look toward the bottom. I really like the veal cutlets. But the pasta's good. It's homemade. That's probably what I'm gonna have."

"Mm." Dean scanned the menu and settled on gnocchi in bolognese. Something different. He'd never even heard of gnocchi, but "potato dumplings" sounded kind of interesting.

Their server reappeared with their beers, a few plates - the topmost of which had some small pieces of bread on it - and a couple bottles of what she explained were olive oil and a special balsamic vinegar. Once she'd set the beers and the plates down, she took one plate and poured some oil on it and then poured some dark balsamic on top of that.

The vinegar and oil briefly melded, but quickly kinda separated.

"It's for the bread," Roman explained once the server had gone to put their orders in. He picked up a piece of bread and dipped it into the mixture, moved it around a little, and then ate it. "It's really good. You should try it."

Sounded all right. Dean grabbed a piece of the crusty bread and followed Roman's lead, pulling it across the plate to get some of both. He ate the whole thing in a bite, and frowned. The vinegar had kind of a tart bite to it, but it wasn't bad. The oil just tasted like oil. He reached for another piece of bread anyway. "That's pretty good."

Roman smiled and took another piece of bread himself. "It is, isn't it? I really like this place."

After he finished his second little piece of bread, Dean took a drink of his beer. Silence settled between them, light and easy, but even as it did, a question that hadn't really been all that far from his mind all day made its way to the surface.

No matter how many times he told himself it wasn't any of his business, that he didn't care, he still wanted to know. There just hadn't been an appropriate time to ask, not with so many people around them. Here in this little restaurant, with a candle burning between them and a couple beers in him, he felt comfortable enough to just come out with it.

"So," he said, grabbing a third little piece of bread, "I hear you're gonna be taking Finn out on a date when you get home."

Roman blinked at him, Morse-coding a question. "Where did you…?"

"Seth," Dean said. "Mentioned he'd talked to your dad today."

"Course he did," Roman muttered, slumping back against the booth. "Yeah, I guess I am. My dad blackmailed me into it. It was the only way he'd sign off on my idea to actually work with the Cesaros. I have to take Finn on a date. One date. That's all. I already know nothing's gonna come of it."

"Mm." Dean pushed his bread through the plate again, watching the dark vinegar and pale oil swirl around together, combine, and separate. There was this ugliness in his chest, a tightness he couldn't explain and didn't know what to do with.

"You know," Roman said suddenly, "after I go, we could keep in touch. I'm planning to be back in the city in a few weeks. Maybe we could meet up for dinner when I get here."

There was a curveball. After he finished the last of his bread, Dean folded his hands together behind his plate and made himself meet Roman's questioning gaze. "You wanna hire me again? I'm tryin' to get out. I'd do it, I guess-" _because it's you_ "-but-"

"No," Roman said, reaching for his beer. "Not for money. I was thinking I could take you on a date. For real. We could go out to eat like we are now. Catch up. We wouldn't have to do anything else unless you wanted to. Even if you didn't want it to be a date, we could still go as friends. I'd like that, too."

"...hmm." Dean closed his mouth, frowned back down at the plate in front of him. He wasn't quite sure he believed what he was hearing here. "You actually want to…?"

"Take you out? Yes."

"What about Finn?"

"I'm taking him out because I _have_ to," Roman said. "I _want_ to take you out. That's the difference. Trust me, I'm gonna let him down easy and not lead him on. I ain't like that. I think he'll be all right. But to be honest here, I don't want to leave. I'm enjoying being here with you way too damn much. There's something about you. That's why I want to come back and take you out for real. When there's no money involved. Unless this was just a job for you."

"I kissed you." Dean's face was hotter than the damn candle flame. Barely recognized the gravelly sound of his own voice. "I don't kiss on jobs, but I kissed you. What do you think?"

He heard rather than saw Roman lean forward. "Then will you let me take you out?"

The hopeful way Roman asked that made it almost impossible for Dean to anything other than nod and answer, "Yeah. When you get back, we can do that."

There was no harm in saying yes, was there?

Maybe Roman would go back to the cold, busy dude he was before, and forget all about this, but maybe not.

As long as Dean kept his expectations reasonable, he guessed he'd be all right if this didn't pan out. Shit like this didn't happen in real life anyway, did it? Rich business tycoons who looked like Roman dating prostitutes who didn't have a pot to piss in, that wasn't real life, was it? No way that shit would work in reality - not when they were from such different walks of life.

This just sounded like some crap straight out of a lame fucking romance movie.

But here they were, Roman's smile blooming easy across the table, warm gray eyes and and a big hand reaching over to settle on Dean's beside the plate. "All right. Then we're on."

Then again, it might be a whole fuck of a lot of fun to meet Roman's dad and be introduced as some low-class asshole. Nothing like shaking up a family status quo.

Not that that would probably happen, but still.

Dean cleared his throat. Smiled back. _Why not_? Roman leaving tomorrow didn't seem like quite as big a deal now. "I guess we are. When, uh, when are you coming back?"

"I don't have an exact date yet, but around the twenty-third. I'll know more as we get closer. You know I'm gonna wanna know how the wrestling school thing is going, too, right? You think you'll stay here?"

"Shit, I hadn't actually thought about it, but I guess I'm gonna see what's around, and I'll go from here."

There was also cost to think about. Probably need to get a job to cover whatever his five grand didn't cover.

Maybe finding a new place to live could wait until he had those questions answered.

"Would you be open to moving?"

Roman's question pulled Dean back to the here and now, and he leaned back in his chair. "Depends on Sami."

"Why does it depend on Sami?"

"I mean, I'm not just gonna leave him here," Dean said. That should have been obvious.

"Yeah, but what if there was a great program you could get into somewhere else? Say around New York or Florida somewhere? Would you really stay here and go to a lesser one just because of him?"

"I'm sure he'd be willing to move, if it meant we got closer to Cincinnati."

"Why not just let him go back, then, if that's what he wants?"

Dean tried not to bristle as he grabbed his beer and took a long drink. Foam pushed its way up to the top when he set it back down, tried to spill over. He wiped it off with his finger. "Because I don't believe the guy who stabbed him would just let bygones be bygones. Dude was fucking psycho. I mean that literally. What's the word? Sadist? Got off on hurting people. Not the type to let shit go. I don't believe for a second we'd be safe if we went back. That's why I don't want him going."

Before Roman could answer, their server made her way over to the table with a pair of small salad plates and two more beers.

She whisked away the empty plates and empty bottles, and disappeared into the back.

Roman poked his fork into his salad. "I guess as long as he'd be willing to go with you. I know it's not really any of my business, but I'd hate to see you holding yourself back because of someone else. I get you feel like you owe him a lot, but the person you owe the most to is yourself. Don't be afraid to be a little selfish, Dean. In the short-term, yeah, there might be some hard feelings, but if he's any kind of friend, he'll understand. You don't have to abandon him - that's not what I'm saying. I'm just saying talk to him. Tell him your plans. See what says."

"He'll be home tomorrow," Dean said, picking up a cherry tomato and popping it into his mouth. "Probably by the time I get there. Guess I'll do that."

"If you ever need to vent, you can call me," Roman offered. "I might not be able to answer right away, but if you call, I'll call you back."

"Okay." Dean's knees bounced under the table. He felt like somebody had taken a beer and shaken it too much. Pressurized and over-carbonated. Everything seemed like it was changing so fucking fast. A week ago, he was just another hooker fucking for the cash to make rend. Now, he had a maybe-date with somebody (still couldn't believe _that_ one), the possibility of wrestling school on his horizon, and a chance to put the past behind him.

How the fuck had all this happened in a week?

He hadn't realized he'd zoned out until he felt a foot nudge his ankle. "You okay over there?" Roman asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, looking up with a smile. His knees stilled. "I am."

He was.

* * *

Somehow dinner became a game of who could sneak food off the other's plate without getting caught.

Roman was pretty sure he won.

Of course, it wasn't exactly _fair_ , considering Roman had lasagne and it couldn't be stolen as easily as little dumplings could be, but it was fun nonetheless to try to evade getting stabbed by a fork.

They were ridiculous.

And lucky they didn't get tossed out of the restaurant when they started laughing a little too loud.

The whole way back to the hotel, Dean kept leaning over and pouring boozy filth into Roman's ear - "gonna fuck me until I can't stand up" and "'m gonna suck you dry" and, as he massaged Roman's dick through his slacks, "can't wait to get this fucking thing my mouth, Roman."

Roman might have groaned a time or three.

"You like that, don't you?" Dean said, his mouth not even an inch from Roman's ear. "When I say your name. Roman. Rrrroman. Rooooman." Moaned. "Roman."

 _Moaned_.

God, Roman's eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. His dick almost punched its way through his zipper it was so hard. It was only through divine intervention he managed to keep his hands on the wheel. Or the car on the road.

This time, he had to circle the block before his hard-on would subside.

While Dean looked perfectly unruffled, the asshole.

When they finally got the hotel, they found Enzo outside rapping in front of the valet station, music blaring through his headphones. Looked like he'd gotten a haircut, kinda, or maybe it was just the way it was pulled back instead of standing straight on end today. Hard to tell.

Not that Roman actually cared.

All he really wanted to do was get upstairs and get naked, but of course Dean ambled over to where Enzo stood and bumped fists with him. "'S up, man?"

"Dane, man, how they hangin'?"

"Low and full," Dean answered, shooting Roman a look over his shoulder. He was dead. "How's the diss thing going?"

"Gettin' there, bro, gettin' there. Mr. Reigns. How's it goin?"

"Good," Roman said. "Wash and fuel that. Oh, hey, I was gonna say, if you haven't finished your lyrics for your track, I remembered something about John Cena. I've never met him, but I remember we were doing a charity event last year, and we invited him to come perform. He wanted _half_ of the money we were raising. He doesn't do charity events. Not just us, either. I've heard that happening to people. His supposed charity work is bullshit. He gets paid a lot for it. Look into that. That's something you can hit him with."

Enzo's eyes widened. "Holy _shit_ , Mr. Reigns, that's _dynamite_. We'll blow that son-of-a-bitch outta the water. I gotta call Cass. That's - thank you, Mr. Reigns. We were lookin' for the death blow, and, man, I think we got it. In spades. Shiiiiit."

"You're welcome. Good night," he said, grabbing Dean's hand. "Come on."

"Night, Enzo," Dean said. He didn't resist Roman pulling him along, but he did wave to Becky at the front desk. "G'night."

"Have fun, boys," she called back in a tone that suggested she knew damn good and well what was up.

Roman didn't have time to feel embarrassed about it.

Once the elevator doors shut, he slammed Dean back against the rear wall and just took his mouth, kissing the absolute breath out of him. Dean surged up against him, kissing back for all he was worth, hands finding their way down to Roman's ass and squeezing.

It was sloppy and frantic, pushy tongues and their noses bumping and teeth in the way and Roman silently praying nobody would jump on the elevator right now because he was a rock in his pants again by the time they passed the third floor and by the time they passed the sixth, he was grinding himself against Dean's thigh. And there were probably surveillance cameras watching, but he didn't care about that either.

Dean moaned shamelessly when Roman sucked a vicious hickey into the side of his neck. He was hard, too, rubbing himself off on Roman's thigh in the same way Roman was his. Like they were damn _kids_.

Finally - _finally_ \- the elevator let them out, and they tumbled out of the elevator still attached at the lip. Trying, anyway. They did have to stop to breathe and so Roman could actually get the damn key card into the door's slot. It took about five tries, and him almost dropping the damn thing.

He grabbed Dean's hand and all but dragged him back into the bedroom, brain firmly lodged somewhere down below his belt with all his blood.

It became a race to see could get naked fastest.

Of course Dean won. He cheated and threw his shirt at Roman's head when Roman was in the middle of trying to get his hair tie out. And like the jackass he was, Dean just laughed about it.

But he got on the bed without even being told, which Roman counted as a victory.

As Roman was pulling his pants off, he freed his belt from the loops and brought it with him when crawled up to straddle Dean's hips. He set it aside for now, though, and swooped down for another kiss. Slower this time, but no less urgent. And it was just - it made all the difference in the world as far as Roman was concerned.

All the sex before had been great, but being able to kiss Dean like this put it at a whole new level.

He pinned Dean's wrists down on either side of the pillow, squeezing just hard enough that Dean couldn't pull away. Dean made some desperate little noise, hips twitching up, and Roman swallowed it down with a quiet laugh.

They kissed until Roman's mouth felt swollen, almost sore, until he was out of breath and so hard he was having trouble thinking straight. He pulled Dean's wrists up toward the headboard again, and grabbed the belt. There was no resistance as he looped the belt around the top rail of the headboard and secured Dean's wrists to it - tighter this time than he had before. Dean just lay there, pupils blown and his very red and very wet mouth hanging open.

Once he was done, Roman swooped down for one last kiss before he ventured down Dean's body, licking and sucking his way from nipples to navel, fingertips tracing the scars, following the firm ridges of muscle. Completely ignoring the straining hard-on for the moment in favor of sucking a pair of really nice hickeys into Dean's inner thighs.

"...fuck," Dean gasped.

Roman wrapped a hand around Dean's dick and cupped his nuts, and idly messed around with both for a minute, mostly just aiming to get Dean all wound up. And it worked because it wasn't long before he had Dean bucking up in what was clearly a desperation move for more friction. "Roman, dammit…"

Chuckling, Roman left the bed to go dig out the lube and a condom.

But rather than hurry back onto the bed, Roman stood beside it and touched himself, pinching his own nipples and running hands all over himself while Dean could only lay there, panting, legs splayed open and his dick stiffly poking his belly.

When Roman turned sideways and ran a hand over his ass, Dean groaned. "Fuck, Roman. C'mon. Let me touch you."

"Should have behaved in the car," Roman said, he kept the one hand on his ass and wrapped the other around his dick, thumb rolling over the slick tip. "Mmm, man, that feels nice."

"Roman…"

"Bet you'd like some of this, huh?" Roman said, turning so a little more of his ass was on display. "Yeah, I bet you would."

He could practically hear the blood rush away from Dean's brain. It was all he could do not to laugh at the little noise Dean made.

Any nerves he'd had about what he'd been planning here flew right out the window.

Most of them, anyway.

Still palming his dick, Roman reached for the lube. He smeared some on his fingers, turned away from the bed, bent over, and reached between his legs. Two slick, nervous fingers inched their way toward his hole, circled it, didn't quite try to go in yet.

"Jesus," Dean gritted from the bed. "Roman, what…? Are you…?"

"Hush," Roman said sternly.

"Make sure you use a lot of lube if you're gonna do that," Dean said. "More than you think you need. Or let me do it."

"I was gonna, but somebody had to go and be a jackass." Roman closed his eyes and slipped a finger in. It was awkward as hell and he probably looked completely ridiculous like this, bent over with a finger up his own butt, but he was trying to make a point.

He took it slow, carefully working his one finger in and out until he was all the way in to the knuckle. He'd done this a hundred times in his life, but never to himself. Hadn't felt bad last night, and other than a slight burn, it didn't feel bad at all right now - even after he lubed up again and added a second finger.

Every now and again, he peeked over his shoulder to check on Dean.

Dean stared like he was in a trance, his breath coming hard through his mouth and his dick practically drooling onto his belly. He was red faced and his hair was sticking up weird and he looked just fucking sexy as all _hell_ all tied up like that.

Roman worked that second finger in until he felt himself starting to loosen up, until he brushed across his prostate. "Hooo man," he muttered. "Damn."

"Fuck you," Dean panted, tugging at the belt. "Roman, let me touch you."

Rather than answer, Roman added yet more lube and worked a third finger. It burned, but not too bad. All the lube helped. So did stroking his dick. It was a lot.

But he wanted more.

Only when he felt like he was ready did he make his way back onto the bed. Dean honestly looked like he was on the verge of blowing a gasket, as red as his face was. But he opened his mouth readily, greedily when Roman kissed him again, sucking Roman's tongue into his mouth and letting Roman have his way.

Finally, Roman sat back and pulled open the condom. He rolled it carefully not onto his dick, but Dean's. Then he grabbed the lube and slicked down the condom really well.

Taking a breath, he straddled Dean's hips, reached behind him for Dean's dick, and guided himself down onto it. It was bigger than fingers, and even the tip passing in almost felt like too much at first, but they'd come this far and Roman sure as hell wasn't about to quit now. He'd been thinking about this off and on all afternoon between shots on the golf course, and at dinner, and…

Then he was there.

Full.

Stretched.

He had Dean in all the way, and Dean looked like he was completely somewhere else, his head thrown back and his eyes on the ceiling.

"Y'like that?" Roman asked quietly. It burned a little, but it didn't hurt - not at all. He tried moving up and down a little and found that wasn't all that uncomfortable.

"...yeah," Dean managed. "Fuck."

"Yeah?" Roman settled his hands on Dean's chest and did it again, pulling up a little and rocking back down. "That good, huh?"

Dean lifted his head. "Lemme touch you, Roman. I wanna touch you." It was all raw, naked want, a plea in half-lidded eyes and so desperate that Roman caved. He leaned forward just a bit to undo the buckle and unwrap Dean's hands.

On his way back up, he stole another kiss.

Dean's hands, not surprisingly, latched right on to Roman's asscheeks, kneading and squeezing them. "You're fuckin' tight. Shit. C'n I move? I gotta…"

"Go slow," Roman warned him, his own hands landing on Dean's shoulders.

And Dean did. He rocked up slow every time Roman rocked down, eyes on Roman's the entire time.

At one point he snapped his hips up a certain way, and his dick dragged right across Roman's prostate. Which was apparently what he was waiting for, because as soon as he found that spot, Dean kept on hitting it. One hand left Roman's ass and circled Roman's dick, and somehow between all that, they managed to find a groove and stay there - kind of. Dean's dick missed some times and his hand got a too little loose at a couple points, and it was a whole lot at once, but somehow, somehow they got there.

Roman came first, his hand joining Dean's on his dick, both of them working together to get him off.

It hit him all in a rush, fast like a bullet, and left him sagging forward with it, eyes squeezed shut and his body just buzzing with it.

Dean finished right afterward, groaning out a lot of nonsense words, his pace quickening to something frantic before he stiffened up and stilled.

For a long while, there was nothing but the sound of them both coming down, breathing eventually slowing and heartbeats returning to something like normal as Roman lay slumped on Dean's chest.

At some point, Dean's arms found their way around Roman's back. "Jesus."

Roman, cruising on the endorphins, chuckled. "Yeah."

"Y'good?"

By way of answering, Roman pried his head up and just kissed him.

Because he was.

They were.

For now, anyway.


	11. Day Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We'll give this one a warning for some attempted dub-con in it. Emphasis on attempted. There is nothing graphic in the chapter. But I did at least want to point out there's an uncomfortable situation toward the middle of the chapter.

" **New Tricks"**  
_XI_. Day Six

The day everything fell apart started just like the before had: with Roman quietly slipping out of bed to get himself ready for his meeting while Dean slept.

Like yesterday, Roman had some bleary, half-formed idea of maybe dragging Dean out of bed for some fun in the shower, but Dean looked too peaceful to disturb. Plus, with the prospect of another date - and maybe more beyond - on the horizon, the urgency just wasn't there.

He'd have time later today.

He'd make sure of it.

After he'd pulled on a suit and made himself presentable for his meeting, he padded over to where Dean lay in his ridiculous sprawl and brushed a kiss across his cheek.

"See ya later, babe," he murmured.

Dean hmmed and nuzzled deeper into his pillow.

A spring in his step, Roman made his way out of a bedroom that wasn't his, but that had somehow become just as comfortable over the course of the week. Even though he felt like a small pebble rattling inside a bucket in this enormous suite, the place was somewhere he'd come back to anytime.

Of course, the guy still sawing logs in the bedroom there probably had a lot to do with it.

He'd never felt that way when he'd brought Cody or anyone else here, and-

- _wow_ , did that whole incident feel like it'd happened a lifetime ago.

It really did.

He paused beside the bar, shaking his head over that. He'd barely thought about Cody all week. Hell, he barely thought about Cody when they were dating - even during the first couple months.

Somehow he got the feeling he'd be thinking about Dean a lot.

He'd probably count down the damn days until they'd meet up again for a real date, he was looking forward to it that much. More time together. A chance to be around each other for real, no money between them and sex only happening when they both wanted to.

As he pulled an envelope out of his breast pocket, it hit him that there was so many places he wanted to take Dean. From New York to Las Vegas to Florida to England and Europe, he had a feeling he'd never be bored with Dean as a traveling companion. Or with Dean as a companion at home.

Or with Dean period.

Dean's troublemaker streak would keep things from getting boring, that was for damn sure, and Roman liked that a hell of a lot.

 _Calm down_ , he told himself, setting the fat white envelope - thing had fifty $100 bills in it - onto the bar. He pulled out his pen, wrote " _Dean, this is yours. -R_ " on the front, and propped it up on a shot glass to make it more visible. It was a little ridiculous to already be thinking about a future when they hadn't even had an actual date yet, wasn't it?

Yeah, it was.

With that done, he slipped his pen back into his jacket, and headed out to get the hell on with this day.

Downstairs, the lobby was empty - even the desk - so he buzzed on through, and went straight to the valet area.

Enzo was out there bopping along to whatever he was listening to. He didn't do much more than pull open the door and wish Roman a good morning, and that was fine as far as Roman was concerned. Anything that meant he got to the Cesaros' faster was a-okay in his book.

Traffic cooperated, too. During the weekdays, he'd found it to be just a snarling mass of bumper-to-bumper traffic. It was nice not having to wade through all that to get where he was going. The less time he spent stuck, the happier tended to be when he made to his destination.

Funny how that worked.

His assistant Tom called him about ten minutes into the drive, and caught up on all the week's comings and goings at the office. Nothing all that interesting happened, and no fires that needed his immediate attention, so he told Tom to call it a weekend - go spend time with his new baby.

Tom sounded sound practically giddy at the prospect.

Roman was still smiling about that as he pulled into The Cesaro Group's parking lot. It was a ghost-town save for a few cars right out front, two of which recognized as Antonio's red Audi and Willard's black Lexus. The third, a decked out gray Escalade, he didn't recognize. He didn't see Seth's rental just yet, but he was earlier than usual.

He eased his Mercedes into the slot next to the Escalade, and as he did he spotted Antonio seated out on one of the concrete planters. From this distance, Roman couldn't tell what Antonio was doing, but it appeared he was either working on a tablet or talking to someone on the phone.

Guy looked swag as hell regardless in his gray suit.

Roman kind of envied that.

The instant he climbed out of his car and looked Antonio's way, Antonio waved and motioned him to come over. But he also put a finger to his lips right afterward, like _don't say anything_.

Curious, Roman crossed the sidewalk and cut through the grass. He understood Antonio's call to be quiet the closer he got to the planter: Antonio had his phone in his palm, on speaker. A man's voice drifted out of it:

"-what those people do, Antonio," Hunter Helmsley was saying as Roman paused beside the planter. Of course he was. Of _course_ this couldn't be that easy. "I can get you _actual_ contracts with the military. They can't. They don't know the people I know. Plus, I have it in good with Allied Health Groups. That's a _huge_ hospital network. It's twice the size of theirs. We can reach twice as many places as they can. And if charity is what you're after, we can look at that, too. We can do everything they can for you and more besides. Let's set up a meeting."

Roman glared at the phone. It was all he could do not to slap it out of Antonio's hand.

Of _course_ it couldn't be simple.

How in the _hell_ had Hunter found out about that?

Antonio, meanwhile, glanced up at Roman and smiled. "Well, Mr. Helmsley, what I would like to know, honestly, is where exactly you came by the information we were planning to sell in the first place. Twice I've spoken to you now, and you've so far avoided answering me. That wasn't public knowledge. With all respect due, I can't say I'm comfortable entertaining the idea of doing business with someone if I don't know how exactly they _do_ business."

"We have our sources," Hunter said, the frown in his voice coming through loud and clear. "That's all I can really tell you, but I assure you this is all above-board."

Still looking right up at Roman, Antonio said, "I doubt that very much. What do you think, Roman?"

"Oh, I _really_ doubt it's above-board," Roman said with relish. Oh, how he wished they were on video conferencing so he could see Hunter's face right about now. "Hello, Hunter. Trying to steal another one of our sales, I see."

"Trying to keep the Cesaros from making a mistake," the over-inflated gasbag replied. "How the hell are ya?"

"I'm great, Hunter," Roman said. He sat down next to Antonio, setting his portfolio on the ground between his feet. "It's a nice day in California. It'd be nicer if you kept your giant schnoz out of my business, but what can you do?"

"It's a dog-eat-dog world, Roman," Hunter said. Roman could just picture Hunter strangling the phone. It was pretty great. "You can't blame me for wanting to stake my claim."

"I can when you're trying to stake a claim where you weren't invited," Roman said. "How _did_ you find out about this, anyway? Who told you?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential information," Hunter said. "Sorry. Can't tell ya."

"In this case," Antonio cut in, "we'll pass. We've made up our minds to go with Reigns International. That's official as of this morning. I'm sure you have other things to do, Mr. Helmsley, so I'll say farewell and let you get back to them. No point in wasting anyone's time here any further."

"You're making a mistake," Hunter huffed, "but all right. When this all falls apart in a year, don't come crying to us."

"Have a nice day, Hunter," Roman said.

"We'll see you on the next sale, Roman," Hunter said. "I hear you were looking at a social media company out thataway. Pretty interesting stuff."

"If you say so," Roman said.

Antonio ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket, snorting. "I can't believe that guy. The first words out of my mouth were, 'We're going with Reigns International' and _still_ he tries to sell me on his company. Persistent. Were you really looking at a social media company?"

Roman shook his head. "We _were_ , but it's dead-end. If he wants to chase his tail on it, let him. But, yeah, that guy is really persistent."

"Who's persistent?" a new voice asked from the edge of the grass. Seth's. He stood in the shade of a tree in his usual black-on-black, his laptop case slung over his shoulder. Something else different about him, too, which was easy to spot because his hair was down for a change.

"You got rid of the blond," Roman said by way of greeting. "What's up with that?"

"I don't need it anymore," Seth said, smoothing his hair off of his shoulder. He didn't move any closer to join them. "I can get people's attention other ways. Who were you guys talking to?"

"Hunter," Roman said, rising. "Last-ditch effort to disrupt the sale."

"An unsuccessful on at that," Antonio put in. He sounded pleased with himself. "We've got Paul upstairs in the conference room ready to go over the letter of intent. I assume we'll have the actual contract ready for him to look over soon?"

Seth turned away just as his phone erupted. "Shit. I gotta get this. He'll have the contract tomorrow. I'll be right up."

"Excellent," Antonio said, standing himself and heading for the building. "Then let's head up, shall we? I've got plans for today, and I'd like to get to them as soon as possible."

"Ditto," Roman said. "I've got something I gotta do before I fly out."

"Some _thing_ or some _one_?" Antonio asked, tipping Roman a wink.

"Not sure that's any of your business, Antonio," Roman muttered, his face warming.

"Probably not," Antonio said agreeably. They'd reached the door. Antonio typed a code into the keypad above the handle, and pulled it open. He flipped down the little doorstop to keep it propped open. Seth was hovering by a tree behind them, his phone wedged tightly to his ear. "Will you and Dean stay in touch after today? You seemed like you were enjoying yourselves yesterday."

"Oh yes," Roman said. "Yeah, we're planning to go out again as soon as we can."

Antonio smiled again and led the way to the elevator. "So you may have found more than a business connection on your trip, then. Good for you. That's nice, isn't it? I enjoyed meeting him. Hopefully, we'll have a chance to meet again."

"We'll see," Roman said, and left it at that.

He hoped so, too.

* * *

A couple minutes after Roman and Antonio joined Paul Heyman and Willard Cesaro around the conference table, bagels and coffee in hand, a frazzled-looking Seth bustled his way into the room. "Sorry," he muttered, not looking at anyone. "Had to take that call."

"Oh, no worries," Willard said from the head of the table. "We were just talking about the golf tournament yesterday. You had a very nice back nine."

Seth smiled distractedly and slid into the empty seat next to Paul Heyman. It put him directly across from Roman. "I blew it on the front nine, though. First time in five years I hit over an 80." He set his laptop case on the table in front of him and unzipped it. "Off day, I guess."

"That happens," the elder Cesaro said kindly. "There's coffee and bagels, if you'd like."

"I already ate, thanks." Seth caught Roman's eye. "Are we ready?"

Roman nodded. "If you are."

"Well," Willard said, "then I suppose there's not much left to do here but make this official. We've looked over your letter of intent, and, other than a few small amendments, we're ready to sign. Assuming, that is, you agree to the changes. They're minor. Wording. Paul?"

Heyman flipped open his portfolio with a flourish, extracted a small stack of paper, and set it in front of Seth. "Gentlemen, my clients propose the following changes to this letter of intent before we proceed…"

He sounded like a king about to make a proclamation. It was ridiculous.

The people he met along the way doing this job kept if from getting dull.

However, there were parts of the job Roman found incredibly boring.

This was one of them.

Watching two lawyers haggle over exact wording and the placement of periods and commas held about all the appeal of watching paint dry.

There were no major changes to the agreement as far as Roman could tell, so he wound up checking emails and text messages on his phone - _need to get Dean's number_ \- while Seth and Paul did their lawyer-thing, and while Antonio and his grandfather sat by talking about some family dinner they were planning for next month.

Paul did most of the talking about the letter, Roman noticed; Seth mostly just grunted affirmatives and typed. Seemed distracted, off his own head about something.

Roman made a mental note to ask him about it later.

After no more than half an hour, Paul straightened up in his chair and said, in his puffed-up and self-important way, "That's all the changes my clients here wanted. Nothing too outrageous. It looks fair. I think we're all safe to print and sign."

"We good, Seth?" Roman asked, glancing at Seth over the laptop's lid.

Seth gave a jerky little nod. "Fine. I'm printing it now."

It was surprising anticlimax, given how much of a pain in the ass this deal had been.

Not an unwelcome one, though. It sure as hell beat drama.

While the printer in the back corner worked away, Seth packed his laptop and caught Roman's eye. "Hey, can I talk to you real quick - in private?"

"Sure," Roman said. He pocketed his phone and rose. "Excuse us. We'll be right back."

Out in the empty hallway, Seth slung the strap from his laptop over his shoulder. "Roman, are you sure about this? It's gonna cost the company a _lot_ of money if you go forward with it. It could be a disaster. As your attorney, I'm telling you I think it's a mistake. I told your dad that, too. I don't think this is the right move. My advice here is walk away from it. Let them be somebody else's headache. There'll be other sales."

Even though he'd lowered his voice, the determination came through in his tone. Roman frowned at that, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. "It would only be a disaster if we weren't as financially stable as we are, Seth. We can afford the risk. It'll be fine. Besides which, I just told Hunter Helmsley to stick it up his ass. We got this sale, and I'm keeping it. I appreciate the concern, but we'll be fine. What's with the worry?"

"Doing my job." Seth rubbed the back of his neck. "I wish you'd reconsider. It's a bad idea."

"How is it a bad idea? There's so much potential here. It'd be stupid to pass it up. Any money we lose we can write off. That's what the accountants are for. There's a hell of a lot more to gain than lose. We're fine here."

Seth shook his head. "I disagree, but I guess it's your hill to die on. I'm going back to my hotel. I don't feel too great right now. If you're _sure_ about this, then you can sign the letter. It's airtight. You don't need me there. I'll go work on the contract."

"Yeah, you don't look all that hot," Roman said. Tired, mostly. Stressed out. Probably in need of a vacation - preferably one _with_ Nikki so he wouldn't be tomcatting around. "I hope you're not coming down with something. Are you sure you're okay? You've been off this whole week."

"I'm fine," Seth said, waving him off. "I will be. Guess I'll see you, when, week after next in New York."

"Get some rest," Roman told him. "And relax. This is a good thing. One of the best things we've done. You'll see. Call me if you need anything. Or if you have any problems with the contract."

"Yeah," Seth muttered, turning away. "See ya."

Roman watched him go, still frowning away.

Something about it didn't sit right.

But the dots _still_ didn't connect.

* * *

Ten minutes later, they did.

Oh, man, did they.

His father had the _worst_ timing.

Back in the conference room, Roman made Seth's excuses, and sat down with the letter to give it one last careful once-over. The language was a lot simpler than the legalese that would be on the official contract, at least. That crap was like trying to wade through a swamp. This, at least, he could understand.

"Looks good to me," he said, once he'd finished up. He slid both pages over to Antonio. "Here. Give it one more pass - make sure everything's the way you want it."

A pair of bald heads bent over the stack, and Roman was struck with a momentary amusement at how similar they were from that angle, the older Cesaro and the younger. No question they were related.

After a few minutes, they passed the stack back to him, Antonio nodding. "We're good."

"Indeed," his grandfather agreed.

Roman pulled his pen out of his pocket and scribbled his name on the BUYER line, printed his name on the line below, and wrote the date under it. He set the pen on the paper and slid them back over. Like they were kids playing Hot Potato.

Antonio signed first, big and enthusiastic. Even his damn signature looked like it was smiling.

His grandfather's signature was more careful, the letter thin and spindly, but it was there.

Paul Heyman was the last to sign as the witness, his big, looping signature filling up almost the entire bottom third of the last page.

Done damn deal.

Roman just managed not to pump his fist in victory. That was the kind of thing that okay to do when he kicked Dean's ass at air hockey, but not exactly appropriate in a professional setting.

His phone rang just as Heyman was finishing up, and he tugged it out of his pocket, meaning to silence it. It was his dad, though, so he got up from the table with an apologetic, "Excuse me again. It's my dad. I'm gonna tell him the good news. I'll be back here shortly."

"Hi, Dad!" he said, ducking out into the hall again, and heading for the little alcove at the end. "Good morning. Hey, we got the deal done. We just now got signatures on the letter. We're ready to start moving on the final contract."

It sounded like there were people the room with his dad, a low murmur of voices in the background. " _G_ _ood_. So you did get it done. No problems, then? Anything I need to know about?"

"No changes to the terms of the deal, no." Roman looked out the windows, into a city that was clear and calm. "He was talking to them about military contracts. I don't know how the hell he found out about that-"

"I do," his dad cut him off. "Roman, is Seth there with you?"

"He just left to go back to his hotel. Said he wasn't feeling good. Why? What's going on?"

"He's the one who's been leaking information to Hunter."

Roman froze. "...what?"

"John Laurinaitis finally got back to me this morning." His father sounded grim. "The reason for the delay in getting to us was that they turned over some of Seth's emails to the SEC to investigate. Johnny didn't say much, but he told me it looks like Seth was part of something he wasn't supposed to be. But apart from that, this morning they also recovered an email that points to him being our leak."

"Dad…" Roman shook his head at his reflection. "It has to be a mistake. Seth wouldn't… He _wouldn't_." _Would he_? "He's been my friend since college. He wouldn't do that to me. You're wrong."

Seth was a lot of things, but a sell-out?

"No, I'm not," his dad said. There was the sound of a door closing somewhere, and the other voices that'd been talking in the background quieted. "Listen to me. They found an email he sent to somebody at Hunter's company last week. It had the Cesaros' details and our initial bid to them. One hundred percent, he's our leak. There is zero question about it."

"Jesus Christ." Roman covered his eyes, stunned, numb all over like he'd just been dumped into a bucket of anesthesia. This could not be happening. "Hunter knew about what we were planning with trying to get in with the military and our hospital network. He knew exactly what we were doing. I didn't tell anyone. Did you? Did you start making calls?"

"No, and no." There was a pause. "I wanted to be sure we had the paperwork signed first."

"Seth was there yesterday morning." The dots finally began connecting themselves. They'd been there all along, and he'd missed them. "He's been acting weird all week. Paranoid and jumpy. Distracted."

All the way across the country, his father sighed. "Guilty conscience. Didn't I tell you?"

"I thought it was because he was cheating on Nikki. I didn't see it."

"He's been cheating on everybody."

"How the hell did I miss this, Dad? He's been right under my nose the entire time, and the way he's been acting... I should have seen this. I've told him _everything_. And he just…?" Roman cleared his throat. "How did I miss it?"

"He was your friend, son," his dad said. "Your heart has always been a lot bigger than your head. He fooled everybody. That's the bottom line. He fooled all of us. He's been lying to all of us."

"You're _sure_ ," Roman pressed. God, if they were wrong about this, he'd lose Seth forever. This wasn't the kind of thing he'd be able to wave away with an apology. "You're absolutely one hundred percent convinced you're right? Not ninety-five or ninety-eight percent. One hundred percent. Because if there's any doubt, Dad-"

"There's none," his dad said over him. "I have an email he sent directly to someone at Hunter's company with relevant details about a pending sale. What does that tell you? I know he was your friend, but you need to put that aside. This is business. It can't be personal."

"...yeah." Roman stared out at the sky, took a breath, tried to ignore the way his insides felt crushed, compressed. The anger bubbling away under that. _It can't be personal_. He'd missed it. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do here. Do I go to his hotel and confront him, or…?"

"No, don't do that. Laurinaitis is going to call him and have him fly back to New York under the pretext of a new client wanting to meet with him personally Monday. They'll confront him with the evidence at that point, and he'll be fired. They'll have him turn in his laptop and his phone. The SEC will probably get a warrant for those if they proceed with an investigation. The thing we don't want to do right now is tip our hand that anything is wrong. So if you do see Seth before you go, _do not_ tell him any of what I've just told you."

Roman glanced back around at the conference room. "What about the Cesaros? What do I tell them?"

"That Seth's been called away and we'll send his replacement to finish tying up the loose ends tomorrow. It'll be that Adrian kid. Adrian Neville. That's all you say."

"So I don't do anything at all. I don't get to…" Roman knocked a fist lightly against the glass. "I don't get to even ask him why the hell he did this?"

 _To me_.

"Not now, no." There was a pause, followed by the sound of dad's chair squeaking. "I'm sure you'll have a chance, though, at some point. But if he's in as much trouble as I think he is, he's going to have bigger problems to worry about."

"Yeah, okay, I gotta go. I'll call you when I'm on my way to the airport." Roman ended the call right then and there, not giving a damn if he was being rude. He didn't want to hear about this anymore. Didn't want to talk about it. Didn't even want to _think_ about it.

How his supposed best friend could stab him in the back like this...

His hand clenched around the phone again until his knuckles ached. His jaw ached. Everything ached.

He'd _missed_ it.

In the conference room, Antonio swiveled in his chair to say something to him, but wound up raising eyebrows. "That's a serious face. Is everything all right?"

"Not exactly." Roman hooked a finger in his tie and tugged it loose, leaned against the table. All of a sudden, he felt ten years older. "Everything is fine with the deal here, but something's come up with Seth. He's gonna be flying back to New York to deal with some business there. We'll be sending a replacement - I think my father said it's Adrian Neville - out to you tomorrow."

"It's nothing bad, I hope?" Willard Cesaro said, gnarled hands folded together in front of him. "With Seth?"

"No," Roman said slowly. "Urgent, more than anything. Nobody's sick or injured or anything like that. It's business stuff that really can't wait. I'm sorry about that. Caught me by surprise, too." And then some. The asshole. "But that's all right. Adrian's a sharp kid. And you guys, you have our numbers. I'll be down in Florida with my dad - probably getting nagged to death - next week. So _please_ , if you need anything, call me. I will be _happy_ to help you. Is there anything else we need to do this morning? I really need to get going."

Get back to the hotel, decompress, lose himself in Dean for a while.

Wash the taste of Seth's backstabbing out of his mouth.

The Cesaros and Paul Heyman exchanged looks around the table, and wound up shaking their heads no.

Antonio got to his feet. "I think that's it."

"In that case," Roman said, offering Antonio a hand, "welcome aboard Reigns International. Congratulations."

It was probably the most bittersweet handshake of Roman's life.

* * *

Dean began his morning out the same way he had yesterday: an hour's run through that quiet park, followed by a long shower to scrub all the sweat and grass clippings away.

Instead of face-planting into bed afterward, though, he threw on his last pair of clean jeans and his new Pantera tee shirt, and packed up the rest of his shit. The backpack and his new leather jacket he left in the bedroom since he'd need those later, but the rest he carried out into the living room and dumped with his boots.

Not that he was eager to leave today, but there was no point leaving his shit lying around everywhere. Plus, if he was all packed _now_ , that meant he wouldn't have to waste time doing it later.

He wanted every second he could possibly have with Roman before their time was up today.

It was gonna be a long fucking few weeks before they got to see each other again.

After he got all packed, he stretched out on one of the living room couches to do some reading. All he ended up actually doing was putting the book aside and thinking about the way Roman had sunk down on him last night. _Fuck_ , that's been great, the way that felt. Unexpected, too, because he was sure once Roman tied his hands, they'd have a repeat performance of the other night, but Roman had surprised him in the best way.

Maybe he'd be open to switching a little more often, if he'd enjoyed it.

Not today, though; today, Roman would absolutely want to top, and Dean was fine with that. One last round before they had to split for a while.

At dinner last night, he'd been skeptical about whether or not Roman would actually come back for a date, but today it felt like it was _going_ to happen - for sure. It was like something changed between them while they were having sex last night, like all that uncertainty just fucking vanished into thin air.

This was actually going to be a thing.

Wrestling school. Maybe a job. A new place to live. And a date with Roman Reigns.

His future had gone from zero to fucking amazing in a few days.

He probably should have known it wasn't gonna be that simple, though.

Never was.

Reality came a-calling in form of a firm knock at the door.

According to the wall clock near the bar, it was only nine-thirty. Seemed like it was too early for Roman to be back, and Roman wouldn't knock anyway.

Dean levered himself up off the couch, stretched, and ambled on over to the door.

Whoever was on the other side knocked again just as he reached it. He peered through the peephole, and scowled when he saw Seth standing on the other side.

Just what he fucking needed.

This asshole.

Wary, he pulled the door open, and gave said asshole a cautious once-over, noting that the blond streak was gone out of Seth's hair, and that Seth had a file folder tucked under one arm. Usual skinny black suit with a black shirt. No tie, though, and the shirt was open at the throat.

Dean stayed in the doorway, blocking Seth from entering. "What are you doing here?"

He thought Seth looked pretty rough, dark circles under his eyes and kind of a distracted air about him. It was just in the way Seth chewed his lip and glanced down the hallway before he finally bothered to make eye contact. "I have some papers to drop off for Roman."

"He's not here."

"Yeah, no shit," Seth said impatiently. He held up the file folder. "He's still with the Cesaros. He asked me to drop these off on my way to my hotel."

"Oh." Dean reached for the folder. "I can take that. I'll make sure he gets it."

"No." Seth pulled the folder back. In a weird way, he reminded Dean of that creepy Gollum dude from _Lord of the Rings_ , the way he did it. _My precious_. "This is confidential. He told me to leave them for him in a specific place. Considering the leaks we've had lately, he doesn't want to take any chances. It'll just take a second."

That sounded like a lot of paranoid bullshit, but Dean stepped aside anyway. "Fine. Make it snappy."

Seth made his way into the suite and headed back to the master bedroom while Dean stood by the door and waited, tapping his foot.

True to his word, Seth reappeared after no more than thirty seconds, but, because Seth was a prick and things could never be fucking simple, he went to the refrigerator behind the bar and helped himself to a bottle of water. Then he made his way back around the bar, pulled out a stool, and helped himself to a seat.

Dean cleared his throat. "Thought you said it'll just take a second."

"Oh, I'm done putting Roman's papers away," Seth said, cracking the bottle open. "I didn't say I was gonna leave, though. In fact, hey, can we talk?"

"What about?"

"You can - here." Seth pushed out the stool next to his, patted it. "I don't really feel like yelling across the room. Besides that, I have something I want to show you. Several things, actually."

Before he returned to the bar, Dean stepped into his boots and tied them, deliberately taking his time. Mentally preparing himself for the bullshit that was sure to start flowing here. He didn't have to look at Seth to know the dude was watching him like a hawk.

Only when he felt ready did he straighten up and make his way over to the stool. Rather than sit, he hiked a booted foot up onto the bottom rung, and gave Seth a narrow look. "Whaddya want?"

"You naked on the bed back there," Seth said baldly. "And then you grabbing your shit and coming to my hotel with me for the rest of the day."

Dean scoffed. Ballsy. "Not fucking likely. You don't give up easy, do you?"

"Not when there's something I want." Seth lifted his water bottle to his mouth and took a sip, eyes never leaving Dean's. "I learned at a young age to just go after things. You don't get anywhere by pussyfooting around."

"It's still no," Dean shrugged. "You know. There's that. You can leave."

"Do you have any idea how easy it is to ruin somebody's reputation in this day and age? One bad Tweet, one scandalous picture, one news story about an executive trying to pass a prostitute off as a gym owner - man, that shit can _wreck_ somebody so fast." Seth sipped his water again, and smiled this nasty little smile. "It doesn't even have to be completely true. Just a _hint_ of scandal around someone means they'll never be clean in people's eyes again. And the damage that could do to somebody's reputation in the business world... I wouldn't want to be in their shoes."

All at once, Dean went still. "You should go."

"Oh no," Seth said. He looked like a cat staring down a mouse with a broken leg. "I'm not going anywhere. _We_ will. Later. After you ride my dick for a while."

"Not happening." Dean shook his head. "'M not fuckin' doing that. And you should know I don't take kindly to threats, so shove 'em up your ass. Leave."

Still smiling that oh-so punchable smile, Seth freed his cell phone from his jacket's inside pocket and set it on the bar. A few taps and swipes later, he slid the thing over so Dean could see it.

On the screen was a picture from the golf course: Roman plastered all over Dean's back when he was trying to teach Dean to swing. It looked like Roman was kissing Dean's neck.

"What the fuck is this?" Dean demanded. "You took a _picture_ of us?"

_You creepy fuck._

"Oh, I've got more," Seth said. "Keep looking."

There was at least half a dozen pictures from where Dean and Roman had been goofing around on the driving range. Also a couple from the course itself. There was one where Roman had slung a casual arm around Dean's shoulders. They were over by the trees laughing about something. It was actually a good picture, and the part of Dean that wasn't about to lose its shit couldn't help thinking that he and Roman actually looked pretty good together. Easy. Comfortable.

There were more pictures from around the golf course - not of them touching, but of them smiling at each other or near-touching when Roman put his golf clubs away. Standing close together while Antonio or Willard took their shots. One of them walking side-by-side into the trees to go look for Roman's ball.

Over a dozen in all.

"Why do you have those?" Dean asked again.

"Oh, I'm not done." Seth pulled the phone back over. "I also have this." He tapped and swiped his way across the screen until he had a player of some kind up. "Let me skip ahead here to the important part. Listen."

"- _this guy is_." Seth's voice drifted out of the phone's speaker, tinny and compressed. Impatient. A little muffled. There were other sounds in the background, like silverware clanking and the low murmur of voices. " _It's not that I don't trust you, but I need to know who he's working for - for real. If he's not who he says he is, this could be trouble for us. So I'm going to dig, and-"_

" _Don't_." Roman's voice now, quiet and firm. " _Don't do that, Seth. He's - look, if I tell you something here, I need your word you won't tell anyone._ "

" _You got it_ ," Seth said. " _So tell me_."

" _I got lost Monday night, and I ended up in this neighborhood where there were a lot of guys hanging around on the street. One of them happened to be Dean. I picked him up."_

" _You picked him up._ " There was a pause. " _Off the street. Is he a hooker or something?_ "

" _Keep your voice down,"_ Roman said urgently " _Yes, he is. You cannot tell anyone - least of all my dad_."

" _You hired a_ hooker? _Jesus Christ, Roman."_

 _"I know, but keep it down. Seriously. Yes, I did._ "

"You recorded that," Dean fumed. "What the _fuck_ , Seth?"

"I also have a video of you two playing grab-ass in the parking lot at the golf course yesterday," Seth said, shutting his phone down and slipping it back into his pocket. "It was right before you were about to leave. Very cute. How do you like that?"

"I don't. Why the fuck would you do all that?" Dean was having trouble getting the words out. He backed away from the stool and hitched an arm up on the bar, glaring the whole way. "What is your fucking problem?"

"Mm." Seth picked up his water bottle again. "Everybody thinks Roman is so good. So untouchable. Perfect. He coasts by on his daddy's name and his family's connections. Always has. Me, I've had to bust my ass to earn everything. I put myself through college on scholarships and hard work. But the work I do putting all these deals together, do you think I get credit for it? No. I don't. I never do. I'm the invisible man."

"Poor baby," Dean said without an iota of sympathy. A light bulb switched on in his head just then. "So you're the one selling him out, then? To that Hunter guy. It's you, isn't it? Crybaby not gettin' enough credit, so you do him dirty behind his back? That it?"

The water bottle crinkled when Seth's hand tightened around it, the sound sharp in the tense silence. "No."

"Bullshit." Dean wished like hell he'd gotten Roman's phone number yesterday. "Whinin' about not gettin' credit. Creepin' in here behind his back with those pictures." _How in the_ fuck _is this my life right now_? "Oh, Roman's gonna fuckin' love this."

"He's not gonna know," Seth said, eyes narrowing, "because we'll be gone before you can tell him."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Dean, Dean, Dean, you're not understanding the situation here." Seth slid off the stool, smoothed down his jacket. "Here's what's gonna happen: we're going back into the bedroom, and I'm gonna fuck you. After we're done, you're gonna get your shit, and you're gonna come with me. We're going back to my hotel, and I'm going fuck you again. Probably again. You're going to keep coming back to my hotel every night I'm here. For free. You'll stay until I kick you out, and you will do whatever I tell you.

"If you don't," he ran on while Dean stood there completely locked up, "I'm going to send these files to some friends of mine in the press. Probably Hunter, too. I didn't want to give them to him because he's being a stubborn asshole about this Cesaro stuff, but now that I think about it, it'll get me back into his good books if I do.

"Think about it, Dean. Just by associating with you, Roman's dirty. I have him on tape admitting you're a prostitute - by name. If this gets out, it's going to be embarrass his family, the company, his parents - everyone. Not to mention whatever skeletons they dig out of your closet. I'm willing to bet you have some pretty damn interesting ones"

"Not really," Dean said, but his mouth was dust-dry. This could not be fucking happening. "Are you fucking kidding me? Why are you doing this? Just for a fuck?"

"I mean, it's a win-win for me either way." Seth looked positively gleeful. "Either I spend a week getting to do all the things I've always wanted to do to somebody or I get to watch Roman dragged through the mud because of you. I wonder what the Cesaros would say if they knew Roman lied to them about you. Do you think they'd still want to business with him, knowing he lied about that? I don't. I bet they'd start asking a lot of questions. Hunter's good. I bet he'd be able to slip right in there and kick over the apple cart. This is the smoking gun he'd need. Wouldn't be much Roman could do about it because he'd be too busy getting dragged in the mud for rolling around with a whore. I win either way."

"Oh, _fuck_ you," Dean muttered.

 _Because of you_.

An ex-junkie prostitute who'd away from of a bad situation in Cincinnati only to fall into another one here.

It was Roman's reputation at stake, and if this sick motherfucker really turned all that shit over to people-

( _because of you_ )

-and the deal with the Cesaros fell through-

( _because of you_ )

-just because Roman decided to hire a prostitute for a week-

( _because of you_ )

-that would be a fucking disaster.

So would having to spend a week around this fucking scumbag.

He gave Seth a look that was just short of murderous. "What do you mean by 'all the things you've always wanted to do to somebody'?"

"Sexually," Seth said. "If that's you licking my shoes or me watching you get gang-banged or me pissing in your mouth before I fuck it, that's what I'll do. Be smart about this. Really think about it. Because I'm offering you a chance to keep Roman's name out of the mud. All it'll cost is a week of your time. Then we never see each other again. I'll delete the files. Life goes on." He looked at his watch. "You have thirty seconds to make up your mind. Which one am I gonna ruin? Your ass or Roman's reputation?"

Given a choice, there really _wasn't_ a choice. One of those would heal, eventually. The other might not. Everything in Dean screamed at him to say no, though, to go pound Seth's face into mush.

Roman's reputation mattered just a little more.

He walked right up to Seth and stared him down, letting all the hatred burn in his eyes. "When the time comes, I'm gonna watch you delete those fucking files."

"No problem," Seth said easily. "Let's take this to the bedroom. You lead the way."

Dean took Seth to the master bedroom, the room where he'd spent so much good time this week. Already that molten rage had cooled into something less lethal, and with it came an idea.

Once they reached the foot of the bed, he pivoted on his heel and shoved Seth down onto the mattress as hard as he could. Seth landed on his back with a startled grunt, legs dangling off the edge. Dean jumped up to straddle Seth's chest, and, before Seth could begin to react, he hauled off and punched Seth in the face - twice. Hurt like a bitch, the pain from newly-split knuckles traveling all the way up his arm, but he bloodied Seth's nose and set the weasel-faced fucker to howling like a banshee.

It gave Dean the opening he needed to get his hand into Seth's jacket and retrieve the cell phone.

Without the cell phone, the files went away.

In theory.

He darted off the bed with it and made a beeline to the balcony's sliding glass door, which he ripped open. Without a moment's hesitation he threw the phone as hard as he could, sailing it right the hell over the balcony's concrete railing. It disappeared over the edge.

They were ten stories up. No way that fucking thing survived that fall.

Dean didn't have time to savor that victory because something ran into him from behind with the approximate force of a wrecking ball, and sent him staggering into the door casing. By sheer reflex, he managed to catch himself on his hands and avoid a broken nose, but it was a near thing.

Two rough hands grabbed him and shoved him back into the room. His feet got tangled with something - one of Seth's feet - and he staggered sideways into the dresser, once more just managing to catch himself before the corner could break his ribs.

Seth grabbed him again, and this time just threw him straight down onto the floor.

Dean barked the hell out of both kneecaps and his palms when he landed, but adrenaline and anger combined to keep the pain at bay for now. He scrambled to his feet, narrowly avoiding Seth's attempt to kick him, and hauled ass out of the room-

-only to find Roman hurrying toward him, expression nothing but concern.

"I heard something fall. Are you-? _Seth_?"

Dean wheeled around, panting, and watched Seth stumble out of the room and into the hallway, disheveled, blood smeared all over the bottom of his nose, his lower hip split open. Seth's eyes widened. "Thank fuck you're here, Roman," he said mushily. "Dean just fucking attacked me. I thought he was gonna rape me. Or worse. Call the cops. I want him arrested. Now."

"What? _No_ ," Dean snapped. He turned to Roman, whose attention was on Seth. "Don't listen to him. I didn't attack him. He tried to fucking blackmail me-"

" _Blackmail_ you?" Seth barked a painful laugh and swiped the blood off his lip. "He tried to-"

" _No_ ," Dean cut him off. "Roman, he's the one who sold you out to Hunt-"

"Are you hearing this shit?" Seth yelled. "This guy is fucking crazy, Roman! Get him the fuck away from me. Get the cops here. He needs to be locked up."

"- _Hunter_ ," Dean said, holding Roman's gaze. "He had a tape of you telling him I was a-"

"No, I didn't," Seth cut in. "He's fucking _lying_ , Roman."

Roman rounded on him. " _Shut up, Seth_!" His voice was almost deafening in the narrow hallway. "What did he have, Dean?"

"A recording on his phone of you saying I was a prostitute. Pictures of us at the golf course. He said if I didn't do what he wanted, he'd send it all out to Hunter and to people in the press. Friends of his. He said they'd drag you down with it. I took his phone and fucking threw it off the balcony."

Seth wiped his face again. His nose had stopped bleeding, but his lip continued to ooze. "He's out of his fucking mind, Roman. I didn't have-"

"Why are you even here?" Roman demanded, clearly furious. It made him look even bigger than usual, the way he was towering over Seth right then. "I thought you were going back to your hotel."

"I had something to drop off," Seth said. "It's a good thing I did, because I caught him trying to steal your shit. He fucking attacked me. He stole my phone. Call the cops. I want him arrested. I swear to God-"

"Seth, I know it was you who sold me out to Hunter," Roman said over him. "We found proof this morning. I know it was you, so shut your lying mouth right now before I shut it for you."

Relief hit Dean in such a heavy wave that he sagged against the wall beside him.

Roman, meanwhile, continued glaring daggers at Seth. "What the hell did I ever do to you? Huh? Why would you go behind my back to Hunter after everything I've done for you over the years?"

The only answer was sullen silence. Seth just stood there looking like a kid who'd been caught and didn't want to confess.

Dean tipped his head up toward the ceiling. "He was crybabyin' earlier about never getting any credit for the work he did. How you'd been handed everything when he'd had to work for it all. I dunno. Sounded like a lot of bullshit to me."

"All those As I got in college, Seth," Roman said, "those were handed to me? All the sales I've closed, those were just handed to me? All the work I put in getting to know the clients and glad-handing people at galas, that's all just handed to me? Getting onto the football team and staying there, that was just handed to me?" He slipped past Dean and got right up in Seth's face. "Why did you do this?"

All Seth did this time was touch a couple fingers to his lips, wipe them on his slacks, and straighten his jacket. "I still have copies of everything I showed Dean. Gotta love those cloud accounts. Enjoy the headlines, Roman," he added, slipping around Roman and making his way down the hall. "You can thank Dean for them. This is what you get when you roll around in the gutter."

Roman followed Seth out into the living room, grabbed his arm. " _I'm_ gonna have headlines? What about you, Seth? Stabbing me and my company and your own family in the back? My little indiscretion here will blow over in a week. Yours is gonna stick to you for life. Once it gets out there you're an untrustworthy snake, nobody's gonna want to hire you or trust you with anything again."

 _Indiscretion_? Dean thought, easing his way past the bar. _Is that what I am_?

(" _Just by associating with you, Roman's dirty_.")

Had he really thought it was going to be that easy?

"I'll be fine," Seth was saying, but Dean tuned him out.

It was a fucking fairytale, the thought that a rich dude like Roman and a ex-hooker without a pot to piss in could be anything but a disaster. This shit didn't work in reality. Who the fuck was he kidding?

 _Fucking indiscretion_.

While Roman said something to Seth, Dean made his way to the door, quietly picked up his duffel bag, and let himself out of the suite.

It was a chickenshit way to go, sneaking out like this, but it was better for both of them if he just fucking disappeared. Roman could handle Seth just fine. And without the _fucking indiscretion_ in the picture, maybe things wouldn't be that bad for Roman when all this did hit.

This never would have fucking worked, anyway.

Besides that, he had a life of his own to get on with. The job and wrestling school and all that crap. He didn't need any of _this_ shit getting in the way of that. Fuck all this blackmail and fucking corporate intrigue bullshit. It wasn't worth the hassle.

Roman was a fucking fairytale.

Reality was, it was fucking midnight, and it was time for the coach and horses to go back to being mice and pumpkins.

Time for Dean to get his fucking head out of the clouds and get his ass to work.

He made it as far as the elevator before Roman caught him. Hadn't even hit the button yet when Roman thundered up behind him. "Dean! Wait a minute. Where you going?"

Dean hit the 'down' button on the elevator's panel. "Home."

"You're just gonna walk out like this?"

"Yeah." Dean made himself look over, meet Roman's gaze. The surprise and hurt and upset he saw in the gray of Roman's eyes hit like a kick to the chest, but he refused to look away from it. "I think it's for the best. Don't you? You little indiscretion here has already caused you enough trouble. Probably better for both of us if I disappear so I don't cause you any more."

"Dean, you didn't cause me any trouble." Roman clamped a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I didn't mean indiscretion like that, anyway. _The act_ of hiring you was an indiscretion. Not you. I don't regret a damn thing about you. I'm _lucky_ I found you that night, and I don't want to lose you." He shot a quick look around. "Seth's more than likely gonna end up in jail, anyway. They found way more than just proof he sold me out. Once that gets out, this will disappear. We'll be fine. I can help you find a wrestling school. I can even pay for it. Or a place for you to live. Anywhere you want. I'll pay for everything. I'd do it in heartbeat."

"I don't want that," Dean said, shaking his head. "I don't need it. I'll make my own way." He swallowed. This was harder than he thought it'd be. "This was never gonna work. I can put on the clothes all I want, but we both know I don't fit in your world. 'Sides that, if Seth blows the lid on this, you ain't ever gonna be able to bring me around anywhere without people thinkin' 'Oh, there's Roman and his whore.' Mean, I don't give a fuck what they say about _me_ , but it's your reputation, and that I do care about. So let's just call it here."

"I don't want to," Roman said. He didn't let go. "Don't do this. I don't _care_ about my damn reputation. If anybody said anything about you, I'd kick their asses."

"You should care about it." The elevator doors slid open. Dean reached for it to keep it from closing. "You need to. You got a whole fucking company and your family to think about. You got a shitstorm about to hit because of that fucking scumbag. You need to go deal with that. Because that's reality. This isn't some fairytale where you can just wave a magic wand, and all that stops mattering just because you don't want it to. Me and you here, this was a nice break - good kick in the ass we both needed to get movin' the right direction. Thank you for that, but that's all."

"Let's stay in touch," Roman said, and he sounded like he was getting desperate. Dean felt like a complete asshole. "Give me your phone number. When this all blows over, we can try it again for real. This is not a big deal. You don't have to cut me off. We could give it some time and see what happens. Why don't we do that?"

"It was never gonna work out," Dean said gruffly, pushing Roman's hand away. Getting punched in the nuts probably would've felt better than looking at Roman right then. "I got too much baggage, and you got too much ridin' on you.  You don't need my shit on top of yours. Besides, I…" He cleared his throat and stepped into the elevator, telling himself the whole way this was for the best. It was. Or it would be. They'd both see that. "I'm not lookin' to get tied down right now anyway. I got too much I wanna do. So. It was, uh, it was nice knowin' ya. Thanks again. For everything. But I gotta go now."

The worst part was that Roman just stood there looking fucking miserable while the elevator doors slid shut between them.

Dean hit the L button with a heavy hand, and spent the entire ride down staring at the floor.

"'S for the best," he told himself.

( _Is it?_ )

* * *

Other than Becky behind the front desk, the big, flowery lobby was empty. Dean adjusted his duffle bag's strap so it stopped digging into his neck.

Becky waved at him. "Hey, Dane." She had her hair down today, the coppery red eye-catching against the black of her jacket. "Goin' somewhere?"

He made his way over, hoping like hell he didn't look upset or anything. A smile didn't feel right, so he didn't bother. "I'm out, actually. Headin' home."

Her eyebrows lifted. "You're not leavin' with Mr. Reigns?"

Yeah, that didn't hurt at all.

"No. I live in the city here, so." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw somebody get out of the elevator, and his heart slammed against his ribcage in alarm until he saw he wasn't Roman. "Uh. Hey, so when's your next gig? The fifteenth? What time and where?"

"Right, the fifteenth," she said, quietly tapping her fingernails on the desk. "It's at The Line. Eight o'clock. You're comin'?"

"For sure," Dean said, and now he smiled. It wasn't much, but it got her to stop drumming her fingernails on the desk. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Great! Enzo and Big Cass are comin' too. That'll be fun." She paused, though, studying him. "Will we be seein' ya around again?"

"Not here, no." Dean shook his head. "I just, uh, I was just here as a favor to Roman. That's all. Now I'm done, and that's it. So. Anyway, I gotta hit the bricks. Guess I'll see you here in a few weeks, huh? Oh, but hey, could you tell Tyler and Fandango I said thanks for everything? And thank you, too. had a really good week this week. 'S a nice place."

"I'll tell 'em ya said that." Becky offered a much more natural smile than Dean could manage. "Enzo's workin' valet today - he does durin' the day Saturday - if you wanna stop and talk to him before you go. See ya later, Donald. Take care."

Dean flashed her a peace sign and wheeled away from the counter. "You too."

Exhausted suddenly, he made his way over to the valet exit, and huffed a laugh when he saw Enzo rapping away at his stand, earbuds in his ears and something loud enough that Dean could hear the thump of the beat pouring out.

When he saw Dean approaching, Enzo yanked his earbuds out. "Yo! 'S up, Deano?"

"I'm out," Dean said again. "I'm goin' home."

Enzo looked around. "Where's Mr. Reigns? He didn't call for his car. He just told me to park it like twenty minutes ago."

"I'm - no. I'm just gonna catch the bus to my apartment," Dean said. "He's flying out to Florida later. We're goin' our separate ways." Once again, he changed the subject as fast as he could. "So I hear you're comin' to Becky's gig in a couple weeks. I'll be there, too."

"Shit, really? Sweet! Then you can meet Cass. We'll hang out. Our diss track should be done by then. Bro, we got this dope-ass beat we almost got perfect and we're gonna be spittin' _all kinds_ of fire over that shit. I'm _dyin_ to get this shit out there. Expose that whack-ass wannabe G for the puppet he is."

"Can't wait to hear it, man," Dean said. He held up a fist. "'Til then, huh? Good luck. We'll see you here in a few weeks."

"Take it easy, Dane. And lemme know if you change your mind about those tiger stripes. They'd look bitchin'. Plus, y'know. Reppin the home team."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Dean said. "Later, Alonzo."

And with that, Dean hoisted his duffle again, and walked away from the hotel for what he thought would be the last time.

He had a bus to catch and life to get on with.

 _It's for the best_ , he repeated to himself over and over, wondering the whole just how long it was going to take him to believe that.

Roman would be fine.

And this wasn't his fucking _problem_.

He wasn't the one who'd tried to blackmail anybody. All he'd done was take a fucking job when somebody offered it. That was all. The job was over, and it was time to fucking move on.

Things might be a little tough for Roman for a while, but if he was right about Seth going to jail, then everything would be fucking _fine_.

Roman would be fine.

( _Fucking coward_.)

It wasn't until he slid into a seat toward the back of a crowded Metro bus that he realized he'd left his backpack and his new leather jacket in the suite. They were in the bedroom.

 _Shit_.

That was okay, too, he guessed; he wouldn't need that backpack anymore, now that he was out of the game, and he still had his old coat tucked away in duffel along with his money and everything else he _really_ needed.

While the bus chugged through traffic and the Kingsford hotel faded into the distance behind him, Dean dug his jacket out and slipped it on. It settled over him like a comfortable second skin, worn and battered but _his_. Right. Comfortable.

That other jacket had been stiff anyway, and not as comfortable, even if it'd looked totally bad-ass.

This jacket was fine.

 _He_ was fine.

Everything was fucking _fine_.

It was.

( _Is it_?)


	12. Night Six

" **New Tricks"**  
_XII. Night Six_

Everything in Roman - every single fiber of his damn being - yelled at him to _go get him_ , but instead he stood in front of the closed elevator doors like a damn chump, his unhappy reflection staring back at him. His shoulders, his suit, his _hair_ \- everything was slumping.

Just like that - _just like that_ \- Dean had left.

" _You got a shitstorm about to hit_ ," he'd said, and he was damn right about that.

Dean had looked…

...afraid? Angry? Upset?

When he'd gotten into the elevator, he looked like he was about to choke. Like he couldn't get away fast enough.

Because of Seth.

Because of that backstabbing, manipulative son-of-a-bitch.

Fury broke through the ache, clouding Roman's vision. He stalked back into the suite, fuming, hauled Seth off of the stool by the collar, and slammed him back into the bar. "What the hell did you do to him?" he snarled right into his former friend's face.

"I didn't do anything to him," Seth choked out, hands locking around Roman's. "I told-"

"What. Did. You. _Do_?" Roman punctuated each worth with a shake hard enough to rattle Seth's teeth. "Huh? Blackmail?"

For the first time, fear cracked Seth's placid expression. "I…was just… I was _kidding_. He thought I was serious. I was just kidding. I wasn't… I didn't mean-"

Another slam cut Seth off. "You better start talking or I'm gonna start breaking things. What did you do?"

"I told him…" Seth's Adam's apple bobbed. "If he didn't come to my hotel all week and do I wanted, I'd give the audio I have of you saying he was a prostitute to the press. The pictures, too. But I was just _kidding_. I wasn't gonna do that. It was a _joke_. He couldn't take a joke."

"My ass." Roman yanked Seth forward hard enough to send him sprawling to the floor, where he landed with a dull thud. "It wasn't enough for you to stab me in the back at work, but you had to go after Dean here, too? What the hell is _wrong_ with you? What did I ever do to you, Seth? Huh?"

Seth scooted away on his hands and heels, and used the side of a couch to pull himself up. "He went for it, you know," he said. "Dean. I was kidding, but he was gonna let me do anything I wanted to him to keep your name out of the press. Isn't that fucking _sweet_. But I was just kidding. I didn't think he'd really go for it."

"You're full of shit," Roman said, perching on one of the stools. It was either that or he was gonna kick Seth's head in. "Everybody knows, you know. That you were the one leaking the information to Hunter. Your boss knows. My dad knows. Your fiance probably knows by now, too."

"You're lying," Seth said immediately. He sat down on the sofa's arm, wary. A bird about to fly off. "They don't know shit."

He didn't sound like he quite believed that. "They have the proof in-hand," Roman said, forcing himself to calm down. "My dad is the one who told me. He found out direct from John Laurinaitis. _That_ is not a lie." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit his father's speed dial number. "Hold on a second."

While Seth sat there staring, wary, Roman put the phone to his ear and listened to it ring.

His old man picked up on the third with a surprised, "Roman? Are you already on your way to the airport?"

"No, I'm at my hotel," Roman said. Curt. Impatient. He just wanted this shit over with so he could figure out what to do about Dean. "Seth's here, too. He showed up when I was still at the Cesaros' offices and started harassing the guy I hired to be my escort."

"His prostitute!" Seth called.

"What was that?" Roman's dad asked.

"Nothing," Roman grunted, glaring at Seth again. "Seth's trying to stir up the pot. He came here to start trouble while I was gone, and I showed up just in time to keep things from getting out of hand. But it came out we knew he was the leak. So I'd pass that along to John and everybody, if I were you. He knows we know."

"Dammit." On the other end of the line, there was a quiet sound like his dad had hit his desk or something. "Am I on speaker?"

"No."

"You didn't tell him about the other thing did you?"

"No, I didn't," Roman said. "But I think his phone got destroyed. It got thrown off the balcony here when he was scuffling with my escort friend."

"Prostitute!" Seth yelled. "His prostitute!"

"Shut _up_ , Seth," Roman growled.

"Is he saying prostitute?" Roman's dad asked, an obvious frown in his voice. "Is that what you mean by escort? Roman, please tell me you didn't."

"Yeah, I did," Roman said, impatient all over again. Might as well be honest about it, if Seth was actually planning to go public. "I got lost and he gave me directions. I hired him be my escort for the week. I didn't tell anybody except Seth, but apparently the bastard recorded me when I did. I guess he took pictures of us, too. I haven't seen any of it. He's threatening to go public with it, though. Drag my name through the dirt. I don't know. It's a clusterfuck."

"What kind of pictures?" Oh, his dad did not sound happy

"I think just of us at the golf course yesterday. Which means they're no big deal."

"Does Seth still have this recording?"

"He said it's in a cloud account," Roman said. "Like I said, his phone went over the edge of the balcony, so he doesn't have it in-hand right now. His laptop's not here, either."

"Even so, Roman, what in God's name were you thinking?"

"That your 'no going to events alone' rule is stupid," Roman fired back. "It turned out _fine_. The Cesaros really liked him. He's a big part of the reason we even got the sale in the first place. Michael Cole's niece liked him, too. Dean wasn't the problem here, so don't even start. I need to know what the hell I'm supposed to do about Seth. The actual problem? Or am I clear to kick his ass, too, and be done with it."

"Let me call Johnny," his dad said through a sigh. "We'll see what he wants to do. Just sit tight. Don't let him leave."

"Got it," Roman said, and just like that his old man was gone.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and got up to go stand in front of the door, thoroughly cutting off Seth's exit. "You stay right there."

Seth looked unimpressed. "You can't keep me here."

"Watch me," Roman said, folding his arms over his chest. "Give me a reason, Seth. Give me an excuse to paste your ass to the wall."

"Kinky," Seth said, wagging his eyebrows in a way that was just disgusting. He shifted on the sofa's arm, unbuttoned another button on his dress shirt. "You wanna manhandle me that bad, I won't say no."

" _Stop_."

"You started it." Dark eyes were alight with glee. "Where _is_ your rentboy, anyway? Couldn't take a joke, or what?"

"None of your damn business," Roman said gruffly. "You're caught and you're not going anywhere, so you might as well tell me what the hell this is all about."

"I told you," Seth said with a careless shrug, "that I got a better offer than you could ever make me. And, yeah, I did get a little tired of being the one doing all the work and never getting any of the credit."

"What _work_?" Roman snapped. "I'm the one talking to the clients. I'm the one making the deals. Yeah, you're doing all the paperwork and making sure everything is in order, but that's your _job_. You get paid more than any attorney on our payroll for what you do. You get to travel on our dime. We've treated you _very_ well over the years. What could Hunter have _possibly_ offered you that we couldn't? Huh? A pat on the back? An 'attaboy Seth?' And don't tell me it's nothing personal. You wouldn't have tried going after Dean the way you did if it wasn't. If you didn't want to twist the knife that much deeper."

"You've had fucking _everything_ handed to you," Seth blurted. His mouth twisted into an ugly line, that smug-ass look gone. "Don't even try that 'I got my As on my own' crap with me. I know better. Your dad paid for three fucking tutors to get you through your classes. Football? Your dad would have had fucking conniption if you hadn't made the team. You only got this job because of your dad.  Your screw-ups are the kinds of things that would get other people fired, but they get swept under the rug because 'you're still learning.' Your little fuck-up last year with that Dixie Carter bitch - I saved your ass, and I never even got a fucking thank you from anybody."

"I bought you and Nikki a vacation in Spain for that," Roman said, shaking his head. Dixie's attorney had slipped some language into their sale agreement that would have left Reigns International on the hook for some her major debts. Roman, like a naive idiot, had signed it without even looking at it. It'd taken Seth a week to undo that damage. " _That_ was my thank you. Did I not kiss your ass enough? And exactly what does the rest of that have to do with _you_?"

"I'm tired of _average_ people like you being handed everything on a silver fucking platter while stars like me gotta bust my ass and hustle for it," Seth said, and all of a sudden, he was icy. "Hunter offered me _respect_. He respects the hard work I do. He wants to see me get ahead in the world. He thinks I got more in me than just being your lapdog."

"You could have just quit and gone to work for him." So much for friendship. "I never would have stopped you from doing whatever you felt was necessary to get ahead. Why didn't you just tell me? You resent me that much? I do work my ass off, Seth. I haven't been home to see my parents since Christmas. I'm always gone. I can't keep a damn relationship because of this job."

"I know. It's fucking hilarious. Mr. G-fucking-Q model, and your personal life is a pathetic mess. The only person I've ever actually seen you act remotely happy to be around was a hooker." Seth got up and stretched his back, chuckling. "What a fucking joke."

"And you couldn't resist trying to screw that up, too."

"I just wanted a good fuck. Been forever since I had one."

"You wanted him because he was something I had."

"Like you even knew what to do with him," Seth said. "It doesn't matter, you know. None of this matters. The worst Johnny will do is fire me. I've already got another job lined up. And I don't mind losing Nikki. I don't need her anymore. She's a whiny bitch, anyway. Terrible in the sack. I've had virgins give me better blowjobs. And her voice-"

Roman's cell phone - _thankfully_ \- interrupted Seth's nasty little tirade. Good thing too; much more, and Seth probably would have wound up with another bloody nose. This was unreal. "Yeah, Dad," Roman said. "What's up?"

"Just talked to John," his dad said without preamble. "Do me a favor and make sure Seth can't hear me."

A quick glance across the room showed him Seth had gone over to the big windows by the table. "You're fine."

"You're not gonna like this, but we're gonna let him think he's won this one. So you need to let him go. The reason for that is the SEC investigation will be proceeding quickly - very quickly. It's that big. He's in a lot of trouble, but we don't want him to know that yet. Tell him Johnny says to get back to New York and turn in everything that belongs to the company, and then let him go. If he releases anything about your...uh, escort, we'll just have to deal with that. I mentioned that to Johnny. He told me to ask you if you knew Seth was recording you at the time."

"No, I didn't. Why?"

"He's doing a little checking, but he thinks California is a two-party consent state for recording conversations. If it is, that means if Seth didn't get your permission, then he broke the law recording you. That's something else we can nail him on. So let him think he won. Get mad. Let him think you're angry at me."

"This is ridiculous!" Roman snapped. It was easy because it _was_ ridiculous. The whole damn circus was just ridiculous. He watched Seth turn toward him, a smarmy little smile on his face. _God_ , Roman wanted to knock it off of him. "So we just let him get away with it? After everything he did to us? I just have to let this asshole walk away? Jesus Christ, Dad! This is _stupid_!"

"That's good, that's good," his old man chuckled. "Keep going."

"What do mean 'that's just the way it is'?" Roman continued, letting himself work into a near-yell. He could tell Seth was buying it just by the way that obnoxious smile grew. "He _sold us out_ , and he's probably gonna do everything he can to drag me through the mud. We're just gonna let that happen?! He's going to work for Hunter. God only knows what he'll tell him."

Somewhere in sunny Florida, Roman's old man sighed. "We'll get him, son. Don't worry. But we need to talk about this prostitute. Call me when you're at the airport, all right? I'm gonna hang up. Be careful."

The line clicked off. Roman continued on anyway. " _Screw_ that. How can you-? _Fine_." He flung the door open, dropped the phone into his front pocket, and waved Seth on through. "Leave. Now. Get your ass to New York and turn in whatever you have that belongs to your boss. You're done. Go be Hunter's bitch. It's what you're good at."

Seth straightened his suit jacket and sauntered across the room. "Just doin' what I have to to get ahead."

"Yeah, well," Roman said as Seth drew near, "I have to do _this_."

He swung a wild haymaker right at Seth's face, his fist making solid contact somewhere around Seth's eye. The rat bastard staggered into the wall, hands over his face. Roman grabbed him by the back of his jacket and tossed him bodily out of the suite. Seth stumbled over his feet and fell to the floor - again.

"If you give anything about me and Dean to anybody, so help me God you better pray I never find you," Roman told him coldly. "I'll make this look like a hug. Now get the hell outta here, bitch-boy."

He slammed the door so hard it rattled in its frame, and stood against it with his head down, just trying to catch his breath.

On his twenty-first birthday, Roman had ridden a mechanical bull at its highest setting. It was a dare he'd been too drunk to pass up. The way it'd spun and slammed him around for the four seconds he'd managed to hold on felt a lot like this, disorienting and rattling all the way down to his bones.

He'd been winded like this when he'd slammed onto the ground, too.

It was ten a.m., and all the promise the day held - all the hope that this might just _be_ something with Dean - had just slipped through his damn fingers the way the reigns on that damn bull had.

Exhausted, his knuckles aching from where they'd broken open on Seth's face, he made the long trek back to the master bedroom.

He paused just inside the room and looked around, taking in the small bloodstain on the rumpled comforter, the open balcony door, and, finally, the chair in the corner.

Dean's new leather jacket was still there. It lay neatly over his backpack, the skulls on one sleeve peeking out over the top.

He'd left that behind, too.

Swallowing past that crushed feeling, Roman crossed the room, picked up the jacket, and carried it to the bed. He sat down with it in his hands, stared at it, brought it to his nose in the hopes he'd catch some fleeting scent of Dean there.

It just smelled like new leather.

He held onto it anyway.

Couldn't bring himself to put it down.

* * *

One hour and three bus changes later, and Dean made his way up the narrow, pissy stairs that led up to his tiny shithole of an apartment. He'd seen Sami's scrap heap of a car parked in the lot beside the building, which meant he wouldn't be alone, at least.

For one of the few times in his life, he really didn't want to be.

The third floor smelled like old cooking and body odor and old shit, this thin, rank smell that seemed to permeate even the wallpaper. The boards under the carpet had warped, leaving the whole thing uneven and uncomfortable to walk on. It felt like the building had sagged a little to one side, the way things tilted.

He fucking _hated_ this place suddenly, with its scarred doors and unwashed carpets and walls in desperate need of patching. And the creepy fucking landlord who just sat the office rocking in his fucking chair.

Inside the apartment, he found Sami buzzing around like an over-caffeinated hummingbird. Probably just bumped some coke. In half-second it took Dean to close the door and throw his bag onto his mattress, Sami paced between the little cubicle of a bathroom and the front of the room. Twice. Forward and around again.

A short dude with black hair pulled up into thick spikes, a spiked collar around his throat, and studded black cuffs around his wrists, Sami looked like he belonged in a rock band. An old Metallica tee shirt, dirty ripped jeans, and bulky old work boots completed the look.

"Dean, hey," he said in that quick way he did when he was wired. He was about a year younger, but sounded ten years older, his voice gravelly with a heavy smoker's rasp. "You're back. That's good."

Dean sank down onto his mattress, pushing his bag up against the gross wall to use as a back rest. "I'm back. How are you?"

"Good," Sami said. He didn't stop pacing. It was making Dean dizzy just to look at him. "Great. You know. Got in last night. Easy drive, easy delivery. Yeah. It's good. It's all good."

"'S good."

Sami glanced over as he paced. "You look wiped out."

"Been a long morning," Dean admitted. "Tough. What are you up to?"

"Did you get your money? Your five grand or whatever? Did you get that?"

Dean tucked an arm behind his head. "Yeah, I did. Why?"

"Because I want to leave," Sami said. "I talked to Dev again last night, and he told me the same thing he told me last time we talked. It's safe for us to come back to Cincy. We're safe. It's fine. He said we could crash with him until we get set up in our own places. He knows where Randy's hanging out. We can avoid those places. It'll be fine."

"Sami, I literally just had the worst morning of my life," Dean said, letting his eyes drift shut, "and I'm not in the mood to talk about going to Cincy. There's nothing for me there. "

"It's _home_ , Dean." Sami kicked the corner of Dean's mattress. "Everybody's there. Dev says they're hopin' like hell we'll come back so we can get the crew back together. Like old times. Run the neighborhood. I told you he said there's new suppliers in town so the game is getting good again. I know you're trying to be all Mr. Straight-and-Narrow, but we could be running the show out there - not...this." A jerky gesture between them. "You pimping yourself out and me playing little runner boy."

"I'm done working the street," Dean told him. That was a fucking relief to say aloud. "I got enough money I don't need to. We can get a real place here. I want to look at wrestling school-"

"Wrestling school?" Sami scoffed. "Your skinny ass? That was a fucking pipe dream and you know it. I'm talking about being fucking _kings_."

Dean sat up. "You're talking about selling fucking drugs like that's something to aspire to. It's bullshit, Sami. All that's gonna get you is put in jail or dead. And you fuckin' know it. Where's the future in that, man? At least if I try wrestling school, that's something _real_ to work toward. An actual future. Even if I fail, I'll know I fuckin' _tried_. I can find something else to do - something legit. You can, too. You don't need this shit. You're too fuckin' smart to be swillin' around in it. 'Sides that, I believe Randy's 'over it' about as much as I believe in Santa Claus. We show our faces, that fucker'll be on us like a dog on steak. I'm not taking that chance."

"Dev says Randy's moved on, Dean." Back and forth Sami went, slapping his fist into his palm. "And don't fucking preach at me."

"I'm not preaching at you. I'm just-"

"You're preaching at me," Sami cut him off. "You think you're better than me now that you quit."

"Don't even start this shit again." Dean swiped out at Sami's arm to try to grab him, stop him from pacing for a second, but missed. "I just want you to be healthy. Safe. 'Scuse the fuck outta me for tryin' to look after you."

"I'm not asking you to," Sami groused. "I can look after myself better than you can. I never had to…"

"What?" Dean hauled himself to his feet, put himself in Sami's path. "What, Sami? Whore yourself out?"

Sami was a good half-head shorter than Dean, but acted like he didn't notice the height difference. He was all cocaine high and defiance. Dean remembered feeling that invincible once upon a time. "Exactly, Dean. I've never had to pimp my own ass."

"I didn't hear you complaining when I paid the rent for the last four months with that money," Dean pointed out. "Or when I brought food to eat. Or the money I gave you go to buy more shit. You always took what I gave you, even when you knew where it came from, so why the fuck is it such a problem _now_?"

"Because you were supposed to be _better_ than that." Sami's bloodshot eyes narrowed. "You're Dean fucking Ambrose. You never - _ever_ \- let anybody make you a bitch. Even when you were out of your fucking mind, you were still the _man_. But you're not the man any more. You're just another dime-a-dozen bitch turning tricks on the corner. I used to fucking look up to you. But now? Now you're fucking scared to go back to Cincy because of some fuckstain you could wipe off the map with your fucking eyes closed. And you wanna be a wrestler, you pussy? Are you fuckin' kiddin me?"

"Says the asshole who makes his living turning kids into dope fiends," Dean said, shaking his head. Sami and cocaine were not a good combination. Guy was like a fucking attack dog when he got going. "I'm not scared of Cincy. There's just nothing there for me. It's a fucking black hole. I actually got shit I wanna do with my life now that doesn't involve whorin' myself out or gettin' fucked up. I wanna be real person."

Sami's face screwed up. "You wanna be a real person? The fuck are you, then? Pinocchio?"

"I'm sayin' want to be something better than a fuckin' gutter rat that sells drugs or whores himself out. I want you to, too." Roman's words from a couple nights ago about letting Sami go came back to him. He shook his head. "Look, you know I appreciate you comin' out here with me. Takin' that knife. I owe you a lot. But the reality is, I don't think me and you are headed in the same direction anymore. I want to find a wrestling school somewhere, and I was hoping you'd come with me. But if you're dead-set on going back to Cincy, if you miss it that bad, then go. Don't let me stop you. Just be safe. Be smart. Think about getting yourself clean. Think about what you could do if you didn't have to chain yourself to a fuckin' high every day."

He hoped that _something_ would sink in, that maybe part of what he said would make it past the wall Sami'd thrown up, but all Sami said was, "I'm going, then. Today. Now. I'm leaving now. I have enough money. Dev'll lend me a couch."

"Maybe you should wait until you come down a little," Dean suggested. "You're fucking scary behind the wheel when you're like this. I'd hate for you to wreck."

Sami turned away. "I need to pack my shit anyway."

"You want some help?"

"No. I'm not taking much." Rough. Quiet. "I can't believe you're making me go alone, you fucker." He glanced around, though. "You serious about this wrestling school thing?"

Dean nodded, sat back down on his grungy old mattress. "I am."

"You're really fuckin' scrawny."

"I'll eat more," Dean shrugged, leaning back against his bag. Heavy all over again. For the second time today, he felt like he'd gone fifteen rounds with a prizefighter - and lost. "I've started running. Probably start hitting the weights soon."

"Huh," Sami grunted. He flitted around the room, gathering shit out of the ripped cardboard boxes that'd served as dressers and tables, stuffing it all into a couple of rumpled old gym bags. "You can keep the TV and shit. I don't want it. Whatever else I leave, if you don't want it, just pitch it."

Dean massaged his temples. "Sure."

There was another period of silence while Sami continued to make his way around, stuffing shit into his bags like a kid stuffing a pillow case with candy on Halloween. Dean watched him through tired eyes, burnt out and dull. Homesick - already - for the fucking suite at the Kingsford, for two days ago when he and Roman had fucked around at an arcade like a couple of kids. For the art gallery, where he'd learned about how Paige had turned her struggle into something tangible. For dinner a few nights ago, where Roman had looked so fucking _hopeful_ over the food he clearly wanted Dean to like. For good sex.

For _Roman_.

( _I fucked up so bad._ )

Hell, for _Sami_ , and how easy it used to be, back when it was the two of them against the world, and they were both headed in the same direction. Long rambling nights, high as kite, and that feeling that everything was okay as long as they stuck together.

For everything to stop fucking spinning for one goddamn minute so he could fucking _breathe_.

Sami made four or five trips out to his car with handfuls of stuff while Dean just lay there on the mattress.

After one trip, Sami shuffled back into the apartment. He was less herky-jerky than he'd been when Dean got here, clearly having leveled off. He looked young, unsure, and scuffled his foot on the floor. "I think that's it."

Dean pried himself up off the mattress and made his way over to the door. "You got enough money?"

Sami nodded. "I got fifteen hundred cash in the car. Plus some stuff I can sell if I need to. I'm good. You sure you don't wanna change your mind? I got plenty of room in the car. Dev says he has room for both of us."

"I can't, man," Dean said. "If I fall down that rabbit hole-"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll never get out." Sami shook his head. "Get some new material, loser."

"I'll work on that. Asshole." Dean shifted his weight, fidgeted. This was the most fucking awkward moment of his life. His best friend in the whole fucking world was leaving, and he didn't have a clue what to say. "You got your phone, right? If you need something, you can call me. You should just call me anyway. Whenever."

"I'll do that," Sami said. He sounded like he was about to cry. "If you're gonna do this wrestling school thing, fucking _do_ it. Be the man. 'Cuz you _are_ the man. Kick everybody's ass."

"I will," Dean said, but he stepped forward and pulled Sami into a tight, hard hug. Because _fuck it_. "I'm gonna miss you, little brother. You better fuckin' take care of yourself. Be safe. Don't let Dev talk you into doing anything stupid, or I'll kick his ass. I'll kick both your asses. And don't drive when you're fucked up. Do that after you stop for the night or something. Stop to do it. Just - be careful."

"Yeah, yeah, Dad," Sami grumbled. "Ya fuckin' sap. You better keep me in the fucking loop about how you're doing, too. Your ass better stay clean or I'll come out here and kick it. Seriously. And good luck with wrestling school, man. You'll make it." He pulled away and cleared his throat. "I better get goin if I'm gonna get to Salt Lake by dark. I'll call you."

"Do that," Dean said. "Take care, fuckwad."

"See ya around, fuckstick," Sami said. He gave a half-hearted wave and walked out of the apartment, quietly shutting the door behind him.

And then he was gone.

Dean stood there staring at the closed door, wondering if it would open again.

It didn't, and eventually he went back to his mattress and sat back down, genuinely alone for the first time in years.

All around him, the silence grew heavy.

And despite knowing it was all the right thing to do, he couldn't shake the feeling that everything was just royally fucked up.

* * *

Around noon, Roman quietly followed a porter he'd never seen before through the hotel's lobby. The porter pushed a cart that held Roman's luggage and suit bags, along with the things Dean had left behind.

It was more than just the jacket and the backpack; Dean hadn't taken his suits with him, either.

Roman waved the porter on ahead - Enzo had already brought the Mercedes around - and made his way over to the front desk. Becky straightened away from what she'd been doing, and smiled.

"Headin' out then, Mr. Reigns?"

"I am," Roman said. He slid his keycard across the desk to her.

"I saw Dean leavin' here a couple hours ago," she said.

"Yeah, he went home." Roman glanced over at the big vase beside him with all its bright pink flowers. "I'll be back in a few weeks, so - hey, did I hear your band got signed to a record deal?"

"We're in the process, yeah," she answered. "It's not for sure yet, but we think it'll happen soon."

"That's good," Roman said. "I didn't even realize you had a band. What kind of music?"

"It's a mix of pop-punk and rock. Some funk, too. We're still findin' our sound." She braced her hands on the desk in front of her. "Are you all right? Y'look...well, about like Dean did when he left. Down. It's none of my business, I know, but…"

"It's really not," Roman said, but he dug up a smile somewhere to take the sting out of the words. "But thanks for the concern. Things just don't always work out how you want them to. You know? Life's complicated sometimes. Good luck with the record deal. I'll see you here in a few weeks."

"Thanks for stayin' with us, Mr. Reigns," Becky said. She looked like she really wanted to say something else, but she didn't.  "Have a safe flight. We'll see ya next time."

"Thanks."

He made it outside just as Enzo and the porter finished closing the Mercedes' trunk.

"That's everything, Mr. Reigns," Enzo said. "You're all set."

"Good. Appreciate that." Roman pulled out tip money for both the porter and Enzo, and handed it over. "In that case, I better get going."

The porter muttered a thanks and headed back into the hotel, while Enzo, his hair just as wild as ever with some new lines carved into it, bounced on his toes and said, "Before you go, I just wanted to say thanks for that tip about Cena. Me and Cass looked into that, and holy shit, man, that guy is _dir-tee_. If you get a chance, look us up. We're 'Enzo 'n Cass' on YouTube. The diss track'll be out prolly early next week."

"I'll look for it," Roman said, and he made a mental note to actually do that for a change. "See you here in a few weeks."

He climbed into the driver's seat, waving after Enzo closed the door for him.

And as he pulled away from the Kingsford, he shook his head at himself.

All that, and here he was about to was slink away to Florida, leave this all behind.

 _It's for the best_ , Dean had said, but Roman didn't believe that any more than he believed Dean meant it when he said he didn't want to be tied down right now.

Seth had spooked Dean away, plain and simple, and-

His phone rang right about then, loud over the car's speakers, and it startled him out of his reverie. He pulled his attention away from the rearview mirror - he'd been watching the Kingsford fade into the distance behind him - and hit the button on his steering wheel. "Hey, Dad. Good timing. I'm on my way to the airport."

"I figured," his old man chuckled. "You're pretty predictable. Like clockwork. I taught you well."

"Uh-huh," Roman said, negotiating the Mercedes out into traffic and into the lane he'd need to hook up with the Interstate. "I got rid of Seth like you asked. No problems. Any more news?"

" _Oh_ yeah." There was a big old smile in his dad's voice. Roman could just picture it, the pleased one his old man got when everything was just _right_ with the world. "So get this. As soon as I told Laurinaitis that Seth knew about everything, they changed the master password to Seth's laptop and to his corporate email." He snapped his fingers into the phone. "They had it done before you and I even hung up. And - you're gonna love this - when Laurinaitis told Nikki what was going on, and about the blackmail and about what I said about Seth cheating on her, she gave him the password to Seth's accounts. She said Seth didn't know she had it. Apparently he uses the same password for everything: SethisGod1. Seth is God 1 - get it?"

"I get it," Roman said, snorting. His palms were sweating. _It can't be this easy, can it?_ "Funny. Did they find the files or not?"

"They found the files," his dad said, all self-satisfied. "They sent them to me, and deleted them out of Seth's account. If he was locked out of his laptop, and his phone was destroyed, there's almost no chance he would have had time to send them to anybody."

"Are you serious?"

"I think you dodged a bullet, son of mine."

"Thank God." Roman eased the Mercedes around semi and onto the Interstate. He felt ten pounds lighter, like a boulder had just rolled off his back. "Thank you, Dad. Thank John for me, too. And Nikki. Or I guess I will later. She really just gave up his passwords like that?"

 _Holy shit_.

"Oh, she is _pissed_ ," his dad said, and Roman could just picture him shaking his head. "Rightly so, too. Obviously the wedding is off. If he's stupid enough to go anywhere near her, I think he'll probably wind up missing some body parts."

"He'll deserve it."

"That he will, but be warned - she's not exactly thrilled with you, either. You knew and you never told her."

Roman nodded. "I'll talk to her."

"Be sure you do." There was a deliberate pause, and, "I saw the pictures. Of you and this prostitute. What was his name?"

"Dean," Roman said. "His name is Dean. How, uh, how are they? The pictures?"

"Not scandalous," his old man said. "It's just you and this man standing far too close together at the golf course. You seemed to be having a good time."

"You should send me those," Roman said. Not that he wanted to torture himself with the memory or anything, but he thought having a souvenir would be nice. "I really did have a good time."

"I don't think I need to tell you how stupid what you did here is, do I? Hiring a prostitute, of all things. And then admitting it? You should have let me send Finn to you."

"Or I could just have gone to these events on my own," Roman said, shifting.  Last thing he needed - wanted - was another damn lecture, not after what he'd just been through with Seth this morning. With Dean. He made himself take a breath. "No offense, Dad, but I _hate_ that rule. Nobody gives a damn if I drag a plus-one along to these events or not. A lot of people show up by themselves. It's not a sign of weakness. The only thing that even matters is if people enjoy themselves."

"It's easier to make sure people enjoy themselves if your date can entertain everyone while you're talking business," his dad pointed out.

"And meanwhile, I'm so busy talking shop and getting my ass kissed that I miss the event," Roman retorted. "The art gallery this week? Michael's niece is extremely talented, and if I hadn't _made_ everybody stop talking business, I wouldn't have seen any of the paintings. Charity events, golf tournaments, other company functions - I'm always talking business, and I never actually get a chance to relax and enjoy myself. I can't ever shut off businessman Roman Reigns. I'm living it all the time. It's no wonder I can't make relationships work.

"And then there's _you_ ," he plowed on, "trying to force me to date somebody I've told you over and over I'm not interested in. As I recall, _your_ dad didn't force you to date Mom. You told me you had to fight for her." He had no idea where this coming from, but now that he was rolling, he wasn't about to stop. "I'm a grown-ass man, Dad, and I can date or not date whoever the hell I want."

"Your damn life," his old man threw back at him, "just about got you into some serious trouble this week. You'll have to forgive me if I don't trust your judgment."

Roman, bastion of maturity that he was, shot his phone the middle finger. "Yeah, it's my fault Seth decided to turncoat on me and try this blackmail bullshit. Even so, Dad, even if you don't trust my judgment, it's still my damn life. I'll let you give me directions any day of the week, but when you start trying to drive the car for me, that's too damn much. You gotta let me take the wheel. Even I get lost a few times, I'll get where I'm going eventually."

He was kind of proud of himself for that one. Usually he wasn't the kind to go for the fancy metaphors, but this time it felt just right.

What he expected his father to say was something along the lines of 'I don't care if you don't like it; my way is best'. What his father asked instead was, "You think I'm trying to run your life?"

"I know you are," Roman said. "You always have. 'Go to this school and get this degree.' 'Play football.' 'You will follow in my footsteps whether you want to or not.' 'Date this guy - his father is well-connected. I don't care if you don't like him.' I'm not saying I _hate_ it or anything. It's just I'm doing this, and I don't even know if it was something _I_ actually wanted to do. I'm doing it because I was told I had to. I'm good at it. I don't hate it. I'm pretty happy with it right now because we did the right thing with the Cesaros. I just hate that to get you to go along with it, I'm going to have to force myself to do something I shouldn't have to with someone I don't want to do it with. Tell you the truth, I almost don't want to come home."

In the time it took his father to answer, Roman drove past two exits and was just about past a third one. "You don't want to come home."

"Of _course_ I do," Roman said, rolling his eyes. "I miss you guys. I'm just saying crap like that is half the reason I stay away."

"You know I just want the best for you."

"I know, Dad, and I appreciate it. Everything you've done for me over the years, I appreciate that. I appreciate what you and John did for me today. With Seth. I admit, it was a bad call hiring a prostitute. I'm lucky this didn't turn out worse. I know. You what, though? I don't regret hiring him. Dean. I had more fun with him this week than I've had with anyone I've ever dated."

That was true.

Once again his dad took a while to answer. "Did you."

"He's a good guy. Now that he's out of the prostitution game, he's gonna try his hand at making it as a pro wrestler. I think that's cool."

 _And I can't let it end like this_.

The thought broke through the mess in Roman's brain, bright and clear.

There was no way he could fly off to Florida and just leave Dean behind like this - no way.

With Seth's bullshit threats not an issue anymore, and that fear of being exposed for having hired a prostitute wiped away, there was no reason - _none_ \- to let Dean get away.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he said, "Dad, there's something I gotta do here in the city. I'm gonna push back coming home a couple days."

His father's chair springs squawked. " _What_?"

"This guy - Dean - and I, we really clicked over the last few days, and… I asked him out on a date for the next time I'm here. He said yes. But Seth screwed that all up today with that blackmail stunt, and I can't leave things this way. I gotta fix them."

"...with a prostitute," his dad said, deadpan. "Roman, no. No, no, no. We just fixed this mess, and-"

"He's not doing that anymore," Roman said over him. "He has other plans."

"And I suppose he wants you to pay for them."

"No, he doesn't. He told me he'll make his own way. You'd like him, Dad. Trust me. He's the kind of guy who wants to get where he's going on his own. If you saw the pictures, you see he's pretty good-looking, too. He's a lot of fun. Like I said, we really clicked, and I don't want to let him get away.  I know how that sounds, but you're just gonna have to trust me on this one. I'm gonna fix what Seth screwed up for me here, and then I'll come home." Somehow. "I just don't want to leave things the way they are."

"Roman, no," his dad said again. "Get on the plane and come home. Don't be ridiculous. Just come home and let's get this nonsense behind us. You don't need to be associating yourself with someone like that. Your mom is expecting you here tonight. Everybody is expecting you. We have dinner plans."

"You can cancel them," Roman replied, firm and set. "I'm not letting this go. For once in my life, I'm gonna do something I wanna do. For me. I'll see you in a couple days. I'll call Mom later."

"You better," his dad warned him. "You better call John Laurinaitis and thank him, too, for bailing your butt out of trouble. If this blows up in your face, don't come crying to me. That's all I have to say. And this better not end up in a situation like we just got you out of. That happens, I'm not bailing you out again."

"It'll be fine, Dad," Roman said. He guided the car onto the nearest exit ramp, and coasted to a stop a red light. "I know it sounds - hell, I know how it sounds, but I need to do this. So I'll talk to you later. We'll see you in a couple days."

"Uh-huh."

There was a short _click_ as the line went dead.

Unhappy dad there, but for right now, Roman just didn't care.

Things could not end like this.

They couldn't.

He needed to fix this.

* * *

The nice thing about having a private jet was that it only took one phone call to get the flight rescheduled.

He was careful to emphasize that it was a _tentative_ plan to fly out Monday afternoon.

Fortunately, that was something the pilot was used to hearing, so she took it in stride.

It was no skin off her nose; she got to paid extra to hang out for a couple more days in the city.

With that all taken care of, Roman drove himself straight back to the Kingsford. He was so wired he could barely sit still in his seat, fingers drumming the wheel and his knee bouncing under it.

He had no idea how the hell he was even gonna find Dean or if this was even gonna work, but he was damned if he'd leave again before he gave it his best shot.

A startled Enzo jogged over to meet him at the Kingsford's clean valet area, oversized jacket flapping around him bat wings. "Yo, Mr. Reigns!" he called, yanking his earbuds out. "You're back. You forget something?"

Roman climbed out of the car. "Change of plans," he said. "I think I'm staying for a couple more days. There's something I have to do. Let me go get checked back in. Hey, do me a favor and leave the leather jacket and the backpack in the car. Everything else can come out. Leave the car. I'm gonna take off here in a minute."

He left Enzo to scramble for a cart, and strode up to the desk.

Becky looked just as surprised as Enzo had, but Roman didn't waste much time on pleasantries. "Listen, there's been a change in plans. Is it possible for me to get the suite for a couple more days?"

"Mm." Becky flicked her hair over her shoulder, and bent over her computer, fingernails clacking on the keys. "Yeah. It's all yours, if you want it. I don't think they've cleaned it up yet, though."

"That's fine," Roman said. "I'm gonna head out for a bit as soon as my luggage gets unloaded."

"I'll give you this back, then." Becky passed the keycard across to him.

"Thanks."

On his way back out to his car, he nearly ran over the porter, who, with Enzo, had already gotten all the luggage onto the cart. Roman passed the kid a quick tip, and said, "Just leave it all in the living room. I'll deal with it when I get back."

He waved at Enzo, and hopped back into his car.

Felt like a nervous teenager about to head out on a first date. And he didn't have a damn clue where the hell he was going.

Except he did.

He slipped back onto the Interstate and drove south a ways until he was a couple exits past Lightbridge. Lincolnway. That was the exit he'd accidentally taken nearly a week ago. The one that had started all this mess.

It just after one in the afternoon on another clear, cloudless day.

And Roman didn't recognize where he was.

He drove slowly away from the exit ramp, peering around a forest of sagging, dilapidated old brick buildings. Some of them had broken-out windows. Others had boards in them, making them look like sightless eyes. Junky cars filled apartment parking lots like clusters of rusty weeds. Here and there, people wandered around on the sidewalks, but they looked like people who were in a hurry to be anywhere else, hunched-in and focused on their destinations. No kids playing anywhere.

Unlike the area around the Kingsford, there were no trees anywhere. It was all concrete and metal, no grass and no other signs of life except for the people.

Kind of a depressing place to be, with all the trash blowing around all the buildings looking like they hadn't been treated very well over the years. Some bore graffiti skins and others had scars where chunks of brick had gone missing.

Nobody he passed looked twice at his car, at least, so that was something.

But he thought he might be close to the right area because there was a bar some old dude teeter-tottered into that he thought he recognized. The sign was purple and yellow. Somehow that was familiar. Thought maybe he'd seen it in the dark.

A couple blocks up ahead was the stoplight he thought Dean had directed him to.

There was nobody really hanging out on the street, though; he hadn't really expected there to be - not in the middle of the afternoon. This was really just a trip down to see if he even find the area where he'd run into Dean.

He didn't have a clue which one of these run-down, shabby old buildings was Dean's - assuming he even lived around here.

But Roman had an idea.

Something.

He'd just have to wait until nightfall.

And hope.

Hope like hell.

* * *

Dean had mostly just laid on his mattress like a fucking slug after Sami left.

He had some half-ass thought about doing his laundry and maybe trying to tidy up the apartment now that Sami was gone, but ambition got swallowed up by apathy, so nothing got cleaned and nothing got moved.

In fact, the only time Dean himself moved was to go into the little stub of a kitchen to scrounge up the last of the bread - the two heels Sami always refused to eat - and the last of the peanut butter, along with the last of a Jack Daniel's bottle. Wasn't enough in it to get shitfaced on, but he hoped there was maybe enough to stop the endless loop of _I'm a fucking idiot_ and _I should have stayed_ and _I did the right fucking thing_ that kept cycling around in his head.

It wasn't enough.

If anything, the booze amplified it.

As night stole over the city, all he could think about was that Roman was probably back home in Florida by now. Gone off to date that guy. That fucking jerk. (He probably wasn't a jerk at all, but it made Dean feel better to imagine he was.) Gone off to deal with the shitstorm and get on with his life - like he should.

Like Dean himself needed to, instead of sitting here all slugged-out on his piece-of-shit mattress, getting drunk in the dark like some pathetic jerk-ass.

If Sami was here, he'd probably laugh his fucking ass off.

" _Look at you, Ambrose, all fucked up over some rich asshole,"_ he'd say in his gravelly old man's voice. " _Get your shit together and go get laid. That'll help_."

Getting laid always seemed to be the answer to everything as far as Sami was concerned.

It was amazing how much that didn't help when fucking became your profession.

He'd done the right fucking thing; he needed to be in the middle of Seth and Roman's corporate backstabbing bullshit about as much as he needed his dick cut off. Him keeping his head down for a while would help Roman survive the shitstorm if that fuckface-rat-weasel-asshole-dickhead Seth sent the recording out to anybody.

When.

When that fuckface-rat-weasel-asshole-dickhead sent it out.

Such a fucking dick move from a champion dickface.

Might have been a blessing in disguise, though, because there was no way this would've worked with Roman, anyway. Roman had a huge-ass fucking company to run and an image to maintain, and Dean fit into Roman's world about as well as a fucking square peg in a round hole. The only way he'd ever fit was to shave off his edges - what made him _himself_ \- and try to force himself in.

Suits and ties and shit - yeah, that was okay, but it wasn't _him_.

He wasn't built for fancy dinners and carrying around somebody's fucking golf clubs.

( _Oh, bullshit - that was fun._ )

At some point, desperate to think about anything else, he got up from his mattress and shoved a - stolen - wrestling DVD into the player under the TV. He'd long since finished the bottle of Jack, and was more drunk than buzzed at this point, but honestly didn't have the energy to pull his shoes back on to go finish getting plastered. Wrestling was a good enough escape, anyway.

Especially when, after a couple minutes of watching his favorite Bret Hart and Stone Cold Steve Austin match, he remembered he was going to try to do this.

He'd just started to get into it - _finally_ \- when somebody knocked at the fucking door, a quiet tap he didn't recognize.

 _Of course_.

Seemed like too much effort to get up and answer it (' _cuz what if it's Seth?_ ), but it came again, quiet and insistent, so Dean eventually levered his ass up off his mattress and walked to the door. Kinda staggered. The floor felt like it was pitching and swaying for some reason.

He hadn't had _that_ much to drink, had he?

Annoyed, he yanked the door open, a sharp, _Whaddya want_? all ready to go for whoever was bothering him at this fuckin' time of night.

The question kind of died in his mouth.

Either he was drunker than he thought, or Roman was out in the hall, standing there all kinds of edible and shit in a tight black tee shirt and jeans, hair down He looked kinda hopeful, big gray puppydog eyes and this little smile at the corners of his mouth. "Hi, Dean."

Dean blinked at him, bleary. "What're you doin' here?"

That was what he meant to say, anyway. It came out more like _Wha're y'doin 'ere_?

For the first time all night, he actually felt pretty drunk, buzzy-headed and far away.

That was Roman.

That was definitely Roman standing there.

In the hallway and not in Florida.

_What the hell?_

Roman held up the backpack, eyes never leaving Dean's. "You left some stuff behind."

"Don't need that," Dean said, leaning against the wall. He didn't.

"You left this, too." Roman pointed at the jacket. "It's yours."

"You bought it," Dean muttered stubbornly. "'S yours."

"It fits you better," Roman said, his smile widening in ways that _did things_ to Dean's stomach. Weird things. He didn't know if he liked it or not. "You left something else behind, you know."

"The suits?" Dean squinted at him. "Yeah, I know. Didn't want 'em."

"No, not - well, yeah, those too."

"Then what'd I leave?"

"Me," Roman said.

"'Cuz y'didn't need me in the way," Dean said. Kinda hard to think through the fog. Roman looked so fuckin' hot in his jeans; Dean could practically see the outline of his dick, and - _shit._ He jerked his eyes back up to Roman's face, mentally shook himself. _Focus, asshole_. "It was for the best. Got, y'know, got shit to do. Both of us. 'N Seth-"

"Isn't a problem," Roman said, and the bastard was smiling again. "Let me come in, huh? Set this stuff down. I think you should sit down anyway. Been drinkin', huh?"

"So?" Dean said defensively, but he backed away from the door anyway and plunked back down on his messy blanket pile, right smack in the middle of the mattress. "'M fine."

"Uh-huh." It was kinda funny, watching Roman make his way in. He looked like a dude walking into a minefield, all careful steps and his arms tight to his sides like he didn't want to touch anything.

Dean kinda didn't blame him.

God only knew when the last time they'd vacuumed the stained, threadbare excuse of a carpet.

"So this is home, huh?" Roman said, pausing to look around at the apartment. Wasn't much to see, considering the only light was coming from the flickering TV. He set Dean's backpack and the leather jacket down beside the duffel bag, which Dean had thrown on Sami's mattress.

"Home sweet hell," Dean muttered. "I'd say have a seat, but…" He flapped a hand at a living room that basically had nothing in it. Two mattresses, the stolen TV, and some empty boxes. "Now you see why I wanna find somewhere else. Fuckin' roachbag. How'd you find me?"

Roman tucked his hands into his pockets and stood at the foot of Dean's mattress, attention on the TV. "Wasn't as hard as I expected, honestly. I drove down to the block here and just asked around. Paid a guy a hundred bucks to tell me which building was yours, and then once I was here I just asked your landlord." His face screwed up. "That guy was, uh...interesting. Sitting down there in the office at ten-thirty at night?"

Dean threw back his head and laughed. "Bray? Yeah, he's somethin. Creepy motherfucker."

"Mm."

"So why're you here? Thought you were goin home 'n datin that guy." _That asshole_.

He thought he said that last part in his head, but apparently not because Roman shot him a look. "He's not an asshole. He's a good guy, but I told my dad no." Sighing, the big man hunkered down right near Dean's feet. "Plus, they got all Seth's files deleted before he could give it to anybody, so it's not an issue."

"They did?" Dean pushed a hand through the uncombed mop on his head to get it out of his face. "Really."

"His fiance was pretty pissed off about him cheating," Roman said with his big smile that warmed his whole face right up. It wasn't fair. "That means we don't have anything to worry about as far as anyone finding out about you. Except my dad. He knows." The smile faded. "He's not thrilled about me staying."

"Go figure," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "G'home, Roman. Go see your family. You got - you shouldn't even be here. Fuckin' indiscretion, r'memeber? Shouldn't be wastin' your time. I got shit to do, anyway. 'N so do you. Company to run or whatever. Told you, that shit doesn't go away 'cuz you want it to."

Roman reached down and settled a hand on Dean's leg. "In this case, I think it can," he said. "And I shouldn't have said that. Indiscretion. That was - I'm sorry. That was a poor choice of words. You're not an indiscretion. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed of you or that I hired you. I told my dad I'm not coming home until I fix this with you. I stayed. That's how much this matters to me. How much you matter."

Felt like somebody had turned up the furnace in the room suddenly, and Dean found himself picking at a frayed seam on his jeans. "We barely know each other," he muttered. "And I don't fuckin' fit-"

"You fit just fine," Roman snorted. "I know you don't know much about business, but look how you were with Paige. With Antonio. Hell, with _me_. You fit just fine. So I'm calling bullshit. And all those fancy events aren't always my world, anyway. I would love to kick your ass at air hockey on a regular basis. Or at any other sport. Or go to a show. Or go to a bar. Just somewhere I can relax and be myself. That's what you gave me this week. Besides that, I'm not saying we have to rush into anything. I really just want that date. I know you wanted it, too."

Dean grumbled under his breath.

He did, was the thing, but he still had those fucking doubts.

It was real easy to say all that shit.

"Mean, you couldn't kick my ass if I's actually trying, y'know, but… I dunno."

"I'm pretty sure I could." Roman stood up and held out a hand. "I don't know if you're really in any shape for this conversation right now, so I'll tell you what: come back to my hotel with me tonight. Stay with me. You don't have to do anything. You can just sleep this off-"

"'M not that drunk," Dean said, kicking out at Roman's leg. "Dick."

"Sleep it off, and we can talk over breakfast tomorrow," Roman finished, easily evading Dean's foot. "How about that?"

"You're a pain in the ass," Dean said, feeling around behind him for his boots. "Fine."

"Oh, _I'm_ a pain in the ass?" Roman chuckled. He stepped around the mattress, grabbed something off the floor, and dumped it in Dean's lap. "Here."

His boots.

"Ow." They just missed his balls. " _Asshole_."

"Sorry," Roman said. He didn't sound sorry. The asshole. "So where's your roommate?"

Dean didn't look up from where he'd started to fumble his boots on. "Went back to Ohio."

"For good, or…?"

"Yeah." And for a while, Dean stayed quiet, sloppily tying his laces and eventually getting back to his feet. "'S for the best, y'know?"

Roman, over by the door with Dean's duffel bag and backpack in hand, nodded. "Probably is. Grab your jacket, huh?"

Dean swiped the new one off Sami's mattress and threw it on.

But when he got to the doorway, Roman didn't move out of it.

For what felt like a week, they just kinda stood there, looking at each other, Dean with a hand on the door to keep from swaying. Fucking architecture on this place was worse than he thought.

Also, Roman was really, _really_ hot. His eyes were just…

Fucking just…

This wasn't fucking _fair_.

He'd left because it was good for both of them, because they both needed it, and here Roman was looking like sex on legs and also looking at Dean like he thought Dean was something important, and they didn't fit but maybe they did, and _Jesus_ , it was giving Dean a headache.

A big fucking headache.

_Fuck it._

He never really knew which one of them moved first; all he knew was that they went from staring at each other to connected at the lip in the time it took him to blink.

It was just a quick thing, soft and closed-mouthed, but it was…

...good.

Something.

A start?

Roman leaned away almost immediately, leaving Dean to blink after him. "You're not an indiscretion, okay?" he said, hoisting Dean's bags. "I wanna make that real clear. I don't regret a thing about this. So, let's get outta here, huh? Get back to the hotel."

And Dean, tipsy and flushed and fucking confused, just nodded. "...yeah, okay. 'S go."


	13. Day Seven

" **New Tricks"**  
_XIII. Day Seven_

On the way back to the hotel, Dean slumped against the passenger door and dozed right off.

Probably the alcohol, Roman figured.

He'd seen the empty Jack Daniel's bottle lying on the floor in that...hovel that dared call itself an apartment.

It was more like a shack, and good lord, Roman was glad he'd gotten Dean the hell out of there.

No telling what kind of diseases somebody could pick up just by walking through that building, as mildewy and dirty as it was. Place had reeked like it hadn't been cleaned properly or aired out in decades. Everything was peeling apart and decaying, gently rotting around everyone who dared call it home.

Given the creepy landlord dude - who'd said place was his "collection of lost souls" - it was probably no wonder. Guy had just sat there rocking in a chair in his darkened office at ten-thirty at night, and he'd laughed when Roman asked where Dean was, his low, weird chuckle that sent a shiver down Roman's spine.

If he had his way, Dean would _never_ go back there.

With the roommate gone, there probably was no need.

He woke Dean up at the hotel, gently nudging him into a state where he could at least walk under his own power. The valet - the night weekend guy whose name Roman could never remember - quietly whisked Roman's car away, leaving Roman to shoulder Dean's bags and guide zombie-Dean to the elevator.

Wasn't much in the way of talk then or when they made it up to the suite.

Dean's feet carried him to the master bedroom, and whatever thoughts Roman might have had about fooling around flew right out the window when Dean face-planted on his side of the bed, boots and jacket still on.

After Roman tossed Dean's bag down onto the floor, he helped Dean get a little more stripped down - at least down to his jeans and tee shirt - and got him under the covers.

It was less than a minute before Dean's breathing evened out.

Roman thought about just jumping in to join him, but he eyed Dean's duffel and made an educated guess that the clothes in there weren't clean. Neither were most of his own, come to think of it, so his last act before heading to bed was to leave his laundry bag and Dean's duffel outside the suite, and to make a quick phone call.

Only after that was done did he strip down and crawl into bed.

To his surprise, Dean immediately rolled over and scooted in close, his knees light against Roman's thigh and an arm stealing out to lay over Roman's stomach. Through a yawn, he mumbled something that sounded like, "'M glad ya came back."

"Me too," Roman said, carding fingers through Dean's hair.

It had taken half and hour and a hundred bucks for him to find someone willing to point out Dean's building for a hundred bucks.

This made it worth every penny.

* * *

Dean awoke disoriented the next morning.

It didn't feel like his apartment, and in the confused second before his brain supplied his actual location, he found himself wondering if he'd gone home with a customer or something.

He didn't think so; his ass didn't hurt and while his mouth tasted like something died in it, it wasn't the usual leftover bitter come taste.

Eventually, he recognized the huge hotel room's familiar tan walls and the white curtains, long dresser at the front and the chair in the corner, and the enormous and sinfully soft bed in which he found himself alone.

He sat up, blinking at the beam of sunlight that cut through the curtains.

So that wasn't a dream.

Roman really had showed up to the apartment last night, and they'd left together.

_Huh._

The headache he recognized as a hangover pounded and throbbed dully in his temples, like a stereo's bass turned up too high.  His stomach felt puckered and shriveled like a raisin.  But other than that and a mild, dragging fatigue, he felt all right.  He'd had far worse hangovers in his day.

Still pretty early - about eight-thirty - and just as he had that thought, Roman strolled into the room with a couple of bags in hand.  Looked fresh-showered, if the wet hair was any indication, although he was still wearing his black silk robe and his pajama pants. 

Sex walking, the not-hungover part of Dean observed.

He was all smooth grace as he set a suitcase down by the closet, and carried what turned out to be Dean's duffel over to the chair. "Morning, Dean," he said with a warm little smile. "I had your laundry done last night. I didn't have anything clean to wear and I didn't figure you did, either."

"Thanks," Dean grunted, trying to work saliva into a mouth that tasted like something died in it.

"There's aspirin and water right beside you there." Roman pointed to the nightstand. "If you want. You can go back to sleep. It's early."

After he snagged the water and downed a few pills, Dean shook his head. "'S okay. 'M awake. Prolly grab a shower here in a minute. 'M all gross."

Roman perched on the edge of the bed. "I was thinking about ordering breakfast. You up for that? We can talk."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Gimme caffeine and grease."

"I figured." Roman patted Dean's shin under the sheet. "How's your head?"

"Not that bad." Dean mock-glared. "I'm offended you think I can't handle my liquor.  I've been way worse than this before.  Besides that, I didn't drink that much. I's just - I was almost asleep when you got there."

"Oh, was _that_ what it was." Roman was way too chipper for this hour of the morning. The jerk. "I see how it is. Ya lightweight."

Dean kicked at Roman's butt. "Shut up. I was fucking exhausted. It was a shitty day. And then it wasn't."

"Touche," Roman said, chuckling. He got up and headed for the door. "Get yourself showered, then. I'll get food coming."

"Eggs over easy," Dean called after him. "Extra bacon, too. Thanks."

Bacon made everything better, in Dean's opinion.

He meant to just take a quick shower, but the water pressure and the heat felt so good that he lingered in there for a while. The hot water and the aspirin both combined to untangle the knot in his head, leaving him feeling a little less like roadkill once he finally got out and got dressed.

Not that he actually _wanted_ to talk, but he guessed he owed Roman that much after the disaster that had been yesterday morning.

 _Fucking Seth_.

Should have thrown that asshole over the balcony.

Breakfast had already showed up by the time he wandered out, and Roman, now dressed in jeans and his Superman tee shirt, sat at the table with it. _SportsCenter_ showed highlights of a baseball game last night on the big TV, the volume low.

Dean made a beeline for the coffee carafe that stood in the middle of the table, grabbing it even before he sat down. He filled up the other empty cup about three-quarters of the way, and filled the rest with sugar, not stopping until the dark liquid turned just the perfect shade of pale.

"That is a lot of sugar," Roman commented, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth and his eyebrow up somewhere around his hairline.

"It's better this way," Dean said, finally sitting. He took a sip and found it perfect, the sugar overriding the nasty bitter edge. "Trust me."

"I'll take your word for it," Roman said. Didn't sound like he believed it. "I like sugar in mine, but not that much."

"You don't know what you're missing." Dean sat down and took the cover off the plate of food in front of him, revealing a couple of over easy eggs, toast, a pile of bacon, and greasy home fries. It smelled like heaven. "Nice."

"That enough bacon?" Roman asked, clearly trying not to smile.

"You can never have enough," Dean said. He peered over at Roman's plate. There were a couple of soft-boiled eggs, toast, and fruit. "You didn't get any?"

Roman patted his stomach. "I've eaten way too much this trip."

"Oh, please." Dean grabbed a couple slices and dropped them onto Roman's plate. "A couple won't hurt you."

"Have I ever told you you're a bad influence? Because you're a bad influence."

"Goddamn right I am.  Eat your bacon."

Dutifully, Roman picked up a strip of bacon and bit into it.  "I'm guessing you feel better?"

"Hot shower and aspirin," Dean nodded. "Does wonders. I wasn't that hungover, anyway. I told you, I really didn't drink that much."

"There was an empty bottle on the floor."

"Which wasn't even half-full when I started."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I didn't drink the whole thing." Already the coffee seemed to be doing its thing. Dean crunched on a piece of the thick toast, relishing the salty taste of the butter. "So I remember you said something about Seth's whole recording thing going away, but I can't remember - what was the deal? You said he was gonna end up in prison or something? What's the deal?"

Roman picked up his coffee and swirled it around, took a sip, shook his head. "I don't know exactly what he did, but they found evidence he was into something he shouldn't have been. His boss turned some stuff over to the feds to investigate. Dad wouldn't say what because he didn't know, but he did imply that it was something big enough to land Seth in serious trouble. Plus, the stuff he did to us. My dad sent me a text last night, and I guess John Laurinaitis - Seth's boss - is gathering a case against Seth to give to the state bar, plus he's helping us with a malpractice suit. We're gonna drag his name through the mud one way or the other."

"Good," Dean said, and he fucking meant it. "He deserves it. Backstabbing piece of shit."

"What exactly happened between you guys yesterday, anyway?" Roman asked. "You left before I could ask."

"...yeah." Dean ate a piece of bacon, and frowned out the windows. Kind of a hazy day out, the kind that was probably going to be hot and humid. "I think you got the gist of it. He came in here and said I didn't let him fuck me on your bed here, and then come with him and let him do all this sick shit to me, he'd send that tape out to a bunch of people. Including Hunter. I punched him a couple times, stole the phone, threw it away. He caught me and was trying to kick my ass, but I got away. I was gonna get out where it was open and beat the shit outta him, but you showed up. Good timing."

He watched Roman's hand ball into a fist on the table. "I'll say. I wish I would have punched him more than once."

"You hit him?"

"Right in the face." Gray eyes found Dean's over their breakfast. "It felt _great_."

Dean grinned. "I'll fuckin bet. Good for _you_ , man.  Too bad I missed it.  I bet it's gonna feel good to see his ass get what he's got coming."

But Roman shook his head. "Not as much as you'd think. It kills me to think I thought this guy was my friend for years, when he resented me for so long. It was personal. I'm not happy it's come to this. That he was like this and I never knew. I never had a _clue_ he had this in him. I should have. I don't know how the hell I missed it. I guess you never can tell, huh?"

"Sometimes I think you can," Dean said. "But sometimes I think you get so close to somethin' or someone, and you just can't see the big picture anymore. They change. Something breaks in 'em. They go bad. There's nothin' you can really do about it except him get what's comin' to him. Try to move on. Find something better."

Roman's expression warmed. "Someone better."

"I mean, I _am_ pretty awesome."

"You left," Roman said. "I had to pay a hooker named Jimmy a hundred bucks to find you."

" _Jacobs_?" Dean threw his head back and laughed. "Please tell me he called you 'tiger' or something? Did he give you his spiel about how he's the best fuck you'll find not just in California or the US, but in the whole _universe_?  Tell me gave you that spiel."

"He called me an 'exquisite specimen of a man,' actually," Roman said, chuckling down at his plate. He finished one of his eggs, and cracked into the other. "And, yeah. After I paid him to tell me where you were, he told me we'd 'have sex like gods among the stars' or something. I don't know and I don't wanna know what that was all about."

Dean waved that off. "He's harmless. Pretty good fuck, too, honestly. We had a few off-hours hookups. If Seth hadn't been such a scumbag piece of shit, I would've sent him Jimmy's way. Those two would've been something. But whatever."

There was a pause.  Roman pushed his toast around.  "You left."

"I did."

"I don't like that. I don't like that I had to spend all day yesterday worried I wouldn't find you again. I know a lot of it was Seth, and what he did, but I don't like that you thought leaving like that was for the best."

"It was, though," Dean said, mopping up yolk with the corner of his second piece of toast. "Part of it was I didn't wanna be in the middle. I wanted to get out of the situation. But I actually thought if Seth was gonna put those tapes out there, it was for the best I disappear for a while."

Roman cleared his throat, sober and intent. "Leave me to deal with the mess myself."

"I wasn't the one who made the mess, now was I? That was on Seth. You said it was an indiscretion, and all I could think was 'dirty little secret' or 'I fucked up.' Like you were saying it was a mistake.  I was a mistake. And I wasn't thinkin' all that straight 'cuz of what had just happened with Seth. I just wanted the fuck out. Wasn't maybe fair of me, but I thought it'd be better for you if you could deal with your shit without all my baggage weighin' you down." Dean pushed his plate away. "I'm still not sure I'm wrong."

"Like I told you last night, 'indiscretion' was the wrong word to use." Roman adopted the same position, his plate pushed away and his forearms folded on the table. "I came back for you. I _stayed_ for you. That should tell you how much I didn't want to let this get away."

"I'm not sayin' I'm not glad you did," Dean said. "I'm just sayin' I remember you said your old man isn't happy with you right now because of this. There's a guy who, on paper is perfect for you waitin' at home, and there's me, who's kinda the opposite of what a guy in your position should have. I'm not into anything fancy. I'm broke as fuck. I got enough baggage to fill up a fucking airplane. I mean, if it's _me_ , I pick me 'cuz I wanna piss everybody off. But it's you. You're not me. You're from a completely different world than I am. If it's gonna cause a problem for you and your family, you and your company, or you in general, then maybe you oughtta go home.

"Because," he went before Roman could argue, "from where _I'm_ sitting, I don't wanna have to go through the bullshit I did with Tyler and Fandango or with Regal, where everybody's lookin' down their fuckin' nose at me just because I'm _not_ rich and I'm not from a good family. And your dad already knowing puts me at a huge fucking disadvantage already. That's why I got the fuck out when I did. I just - I'd rather stay away than-"

"Fight for it?" Roman asked quietly.

"Let people rub my fucking nose in the dirt." Dean watched a flock of birds fly by in the window, sighed. "I got enough of that shit back in Cincy."

He finished off his coffee, and finally got around to making eye contact again.

"I get where you're coming from," Roman said, "and as much as I'd like to promise you everything would be fine, I can't. I know how my dad is, and - yeah, he does have a problem with this, and that's something I have to get him past. If I can. If we end up that far down the line.  I'd be willing to try. And I guarantee you my mom and the rest of my family - they wouldn't treat you bad. They're always really great with everybody I bring home."

The thing that struck Dean about that was Roman was talking about bringing Dean home - to Florida or wherever - like it was just something that was going to _happen_. Like he was sure about it.

They hadn't even had an actual non-work date yet.

"You've never brought anybody like me home," Dean muttered at the table. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves here."

"I'm just saying, it might not be as bad you think."

"You don't know that."

Roman reached over and squeezed Dean's forearm. "No, I don't, but my dad isn't the type to forbid me from doing anything. He can't. I'm an adult - not a kid."

"You were gonna take that Finn guy out because he wanted you to," Dean felt compelled to point out.  It mattered.

"Because I let him get away with it instead of standing my ground," Roman said. "I stood up to him yesterday and now I'm not dating Finn. I'm here instead of Florida. _You're_ here. It would never come to this, but even if my dad disowned me, fired me, and cut me out of the will, I'd still have enough money that'd I'd never have to work again. I could spend the rest of my life traveling and doing whatever I wanted. Dad knows that. He knows he'd be cutting off his own nose to spite his face." Another squeeze, and, "You were the one who said I need to start living for me. You're right. I want to start doing that by taking you out on a date. I want to get to know you. I'm into you, man. And if you're into me, then let's start there."

It wasn't going to be that simple - never was - but it was like dinner the other night all over again: more to gain than to lose, and it wasn't like they were gonna rush off and get married tomorrow.

"Still want to do it when you come back?" was what Dean asked.

"Actually…" Roman's smile unfolded a little at a time, this easy thing, warm and comfortable. "I had some time to think yesterday - a _lot_ of time to think, actually - and I got to looking around… There's a WWE house show an hour south of us tonight. They still got tickets. How about you let me take you there? We can head down early, if we want, and check out - they got this weird old house I've always wanted to check out. Some weird stuff happened in it. Not exactly haunted, but it's some kind of historical landmark. Oh, and there's this museum I've always wanted to check out, too. I don't know how into technology you are, but it's supposed to be cool as hell. Plus, there's a place there I've always wanted to eat. But the house show - that'd be the date. What do you think?"

Hope in his eyes, and Dean's stomach got all twisty and weird. Of course Roman would take him to a wrestling show for a date.

 _Of course_ he would.

"You're on." Dean nudged his fork forward on the plate. "I figured you'd wanna hang here and have sex all day."

He heard Roman choke a little. "I wouldn't mind, but I think I'd rather be old fashioned about it. Wait until after the date. If we do. That'll be up to you. Do you, uh, are you the type to jump into the sack on the first date?"

Dean pulled the fork back toward him. "I have never been out on a date in my life. Bar hookups are more my speed. But I'd probably put out, yeah. I feel like I'd be the type." He glanced up, smiling himself. Apparently he was doing this.  "'Course, considering you've already had me about a dozen times, I dunno if me puttin' out for you tonight would mean I'm easy or not."

"You don't have to, you know," Roman said, squeezing Dean's arm again. "It's your choice."

"You gonna let me top you?" Dean asked suddenly. "Like for real? Not tonight, assuming that happens.  You can top. But maybe next time? Like once before you go? Not that I'm complaining about the other night 'cuz that was fucking awesome, but can I drive once? I don't mind bottoming for you at all, but I do wanna switch it up sometimes."

Without a moment's hesitation, Roman said, "I don't have a problem with that."

"Cool." And then, because it needed to be said, "Thanks for coming back. Sorry about leaving."

"No, don't apologize," Roman said. "I understand. Let's just - forget it. It's over and done."

He took himself away from the table to go order the tickets and find out the tours he wanted to do, and Dean sat there with the empty plates in front of him, thinking it was worth a try.

Roman was worth it.

 _And I deserve it, too_.

They both did.

* * *

Compared to the arcade day, their day out together was pretty low-key.

It was nice, though, Roman found.

After a ninety-minute drive where Roman told Dean all about his parents and cousins and growing up Florida, they made it to this old house where they spent a couple hours with an amiable tour guide taking them around and explaining all the ghost sightings and mysterious things that had happened over the years.

The architecture of the place was strange, and it gave off a weird vibe.

Dean seemed to dig it, though, reiterating again to Roman after about ten minutes that he was into this 'paranormal stuff.' Stood to reason, given how he'd been talking about Bigfoot at stuff at the Ripley's museum, and, although he didn't _tell_ Dean this, it was why Roman chose this place to begin with.

He thought Dean would like it - and he was right.

While they ate a late seafood lunch at one of Roman's favorite places, Dean talked animatedly about how "awesomely fuckin' weird" it was there were staircases that went nowhere, and doors that opened into walls. How creepy everything felt, like it was suspended in time.

On the way to the the city here, Roman had tried to ask Dean a little more about _his_ past only to be met with cut one- or two-word answers given in a definite _I don't want to talk about this tone_.

To see him so open and animated now where he'd been closed off earlier, it was like night and day.

It made want to kiss him like crazy, but he told himself to wait.

It'd be worth it later.

Dean was a little less enthusiastic about the tech museum, but admitted he wasn't much of a techie guy, so everything in there was all way over his head.

No doubt about it: he was a flip-phone guy in a smart phone world.

He professed to not really knowing much of anything about computers, and "exactly dick" about social media and "all that crap." Even so, he wandered around the museum with Roman, watched Roman play with some of the interactive displays, and eventually admitted it was pretty cool.

Plus, it wasn't all that crowded - just a handful of tourists and their kids here and there - so they had time to take everything in without bumping into people, or having to worry as much about watching what they were saying.

Nobody paid any attention to the two dudes in jeans and comic book tee shirts.

_Superman and Deadpool._

What an unlikely pair.

The only thing Roman really had to worry about was restraining himself from grabbing Dean's hand.

That, and blurting out that he wanted Dean to just come the hell to Florida tomorrow.

Move to New York.

Leave all this crap behind.

It would make being together easier.  Roman could think of ten places off the top of his head he could take Dean in the city.  Things they could do together.  Places they could eat.  Hell, they could just hang out in Roman's penthouse at nice and take in the city.  Dean would probably love the view.  All the things Roman wanted to show him, do with him, everything would me a million times simpler if they were living in the same place.

Living on separate coasts would get old real quick, and with Dean not being big on technology, there wouldn't be a lot of opportunities for Skype calls or anything like that, either.

He _wanted_ Dean around.

But he could already see Dean balking at the idea, the stubborn jackass.

All throughout the afternoon, Roman kept looking for opportunities to bring it up, but they got fairly engrossed in what was going on at the museum, and by the time they finished checking everything out, it was time to go to the arena for their actual date.

Dean spent the entire ride over talking about who he hoped was on the card tonight, and what he hoped to see, just motor-mouthing like an excited kid. Roman didn't have the heart to derail that with talk that could probably wait until tomorrow, so he just smiled and nodded in the right places and let Dean chatter away and laughed to himself at the way used his hands to talk.

There were no nerves at all on this date at all; they'd technically already had four dates - counting Paige's art gallery, the dinner at _Frais_ , the arcade day, and dinner after golf - and this wouldn't require them to sit and actually talk to each other this time, so it'd be pretty easy.

Sex was pretty much a foregone conclusion at the end of the night.

More than once today, Dean had 'accidentally' brushed a hand over the front of Roman's jeans and touched his ass. Not that Roman had exactly kept _his_ hands to himself, either.

At least today, Dean had waited to get frisky when no one was around.

The tickets Roman bought were down ringside, four rows back on the side where the camera would be for TV. After he and Dean grabbed a couple beers, they made their careful way down to the floor, Roman flashing their tickets to a blank-faced security guard, who waved them on through.

Their seats happened to be the end two on their aisle.

Roman took the very end seat, sitting down and setting his beer under his chair. Dean stood impassively taking everything in: the ring, the half-full arena, and the people trickling in. Most of the seats around them were full, but the seats directly behind them for a couple rows were still empty, and so were the two seats beside Dean's chair.

For _Wrestlemanias_ , Roman usually sat on the opposite side of the ring, right by the corner. Usually, he wore slacks and a dress shirt, and he seldom drank. His seat tended to put him on camera a lot, and he didn't want to be caught drinking.

Now, four rows back and just another face in the crowd, he gladly drank his beer and sat wondering what his date was thinking about.

"Could be you someday," he commented as Dean sat down. "Up there."

"Yeah," Dean said, sipping his beer. It left a little foam on his lip that his tongue flicked out to chase away. It was sexier than it had any right to be.

A lot of things Dean did were sexier than they should have been.

Not that Roman was ever going to give Dean that ammunition.

"This is a pretty cool place," Roman said instead.

"It is," Dean agreed. "When I was a kid, me and Sami got tickets to an event in Cincinnati once. Nosebleeds. I've never been this close to anything other than that show at the flea market. This is fuckin' cool."

"It sure is," Roman said. And then it happened. Out of nowhere, apropos of absolutely nothing, he just decided to blurt out, "You should come with me to Florida tomorrow."

Predictably, Dean froze. Wide eyes turned slowly to look at Roman. "What?"

"I'd put you up at a hotel," Roman said before he could talk himself out of it. He was in it now. "You could come hang out with me and my cousins. I wouldn't drag you around my parents or anything. But you could spend the time I was busy with my parents looking into wrestling schools. They have them all over the place, and I was thinking I wouldn't _pay_ for it, but I could loan you the money. You could pay me back."

And, again, just as predicted, Dean balked.  "I appreciate that, but I'm not physically ready to start training just yet. I need a few more months for my body to, like, recover from all the shit I did to it. I ran a couple days this week and I about died both times. I gotta get some weight on me, too, 'cuz I'm way too fuckin' skinny.  I don't think I'm even one-ninety right now. That's not excuses. It's just there's things I gotta do to get myself in shape. Me startin' school - assuming I even got in - wouldn't happen tomorrow or even next week." He met Roman's gaze, pensive and troubled. "I kinda feel like you're rushin' me. It's like, I'm _in_ it, but it's gotta be on _my_ time, you know?"

Roman grimaced. He hadn't actually considered that. Dean was lean and wiry, but there wasn't much meat on his bones. His stomach was pretty flat, but it had nothing in the way of definition to it, and what muscle he had wasn't all that toned. "I get ya," he said. "I'm not trying to push. It wouldn't hurt to start looking, at least.  You could do that while I was away with my folks.  That's all I meant."

"I wasn't saying it wouldn't hurt to start looking," Dean said, attention wandering up to the graphics flashing across the screen at the front of the arena. "I was just saying that's something to plan for in the next few months - not something I'm gonna start tomorrow. What I need to do tomorrow is start looking for a job and a place to live besides that roachbag."

"You don't have to stay where you are, though," Roman pointed out. He gulped down half his beer. "With Sami gone back to Ohio, what's keeping you here? You didn't have very much stuff. You could pack it up and move anywhere you wanted."

Dean shot him a look, but waited for a couple of people to pass by with their kid to answer,  "Anywhere _you_ wanted, you mean."

"Would it be so bad living in New York? I'm there more than I'm anywhere. It'd give us time to have more dates. I'm sure you'd be able to find someone to train you in the area. There's a lot of wrestling there. And my offer would stand just the same. If it's two months or six, I'd loan you the money. You could pay me back once you got your feet under you."

"That's one option," Dean said. Which sounded like a no. "I'm still gonna get a job and pay for it as much as I can."

"Whatever you wanna do."

Roman thought he did a good job keeping anything negative out of his voice, but if the way Dean grit his teeth and frowned off at the ring was any indication, he hadn't. "I've never been anything but a fuck-up my whole life," was what Dean said. "I got this...I dunno. This _thing_ in me that needs to do this on my own to prove to myself that I can do it. No short-cuts, no hand-outs, no easy way. It's somethin' I wanna earn on my own. You know? I'm doin' this for me. Not because anybody else wants me to. But because it's what I want. This is how I want it. And, y'know, I really appreciate you cheerin' me on and wantin' to help, but if I do take a loan from you, it'll be a last resort kinda deal. It's just-"

"You want to get there on your own power," Roman nodded, his irritation fading. "I get that, man. I admire it." His dad probably would, too, come to think of it. It'd be proof Dean wasn't just some gold-digger looking for an easy meal ticket. "I guess I'll stick to playing cheerleader, huh?"

That was an unfortunate choice of words.

Dean grinned over at him, narrow and sly, and said quietly, "I bet you'd look good in a cheerleading skirt. Pom-poms and everything."

"I doubt it," Roman deadpanned. "I don't have the legs for it."

"You got the ass for it." And now came the trouble, just in the way that half-smile widened. He leaned in close, so the people around him wouldn't overhear. "I'd be worried about your dick hanging out, if I were you, honestly. I guess you could wear a jockstrap or something."

"No way."  Roman folded his arms over his chest to prove just how much he meant it.  "Never in a million years."

"Not even as a reward?" Dean's lips were near Roman's ear, warm breath and that gravelly-quiet voice right _there_.  It was all Roman could do not to shudder.  "How about if I make it through wrestling school on my own and we're still...y'know, in each other's orbit? Would you do it then?"

"No," Roman said, laughing. That was ridiculous. "I'm pretty sure we will be, but no."

Maybe he was being overly optimistic - God only knew what kind of parental freakout he had waiting for him down in Florida - but something about Dean pulled Roman in like a magnet, and made him not want to let go. They hardly knew each other, and this felt a lot like they were barreling down a steep rollercoaster with no brakes, but even so, it was a ride Roman didn't want to get off.

Dean, either, if the way he leaned in even closer was any indication.

"Aw, come on, Roman," he wheedled. "I'd do it for you. Or something like that. Whatever. As a reward for something, I would. Like if you actually took a vacation and did a few of those culinary tours or bought yourself a beach house or something, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"You would, huh?" Roman asked, trying to bite back amusement.

"The thing you're gonna find out about me, Roman, is I have a sense of adventure." Dean lowered his voice and added, "And almost no shame. I would blow you in the bathroom right here and right now if you let me. I'd fuckin' love to get you all hot and hard, Superman, and watch you fuckin' come apart. You look so fuckin' hot when you let go.  I can almost taste it."

A great deal of the blood rushed out of Roman's brain just then. Left him a little lightheaded. And embarrassed. By now, almost all the seats around them were full, people chattering away noisily, oblivious to the way Roman's thermostat had just climbed, of the pressure starting to build in his lap.

He made this embarrassing noise in his throat that was thankfully swallowed up by the crowd noises around him, sat back, tugged at his collar, shifted. "You're gonna pay for that later," he shot out of the corner of his mouth.

"Lookin' forward to it," Dean said, self-satisfied. He sipped his beer, all mock-innocent. Roman had the wildest urge to throw the bastard over his knee and spank his ass red. "That a yes on my reward, then?"

"Are you…?" Roman spluttered. "You're not gonna let that go, are you?"

"Nope." Dean _winked_ at him. "I'm persistent, too."

"What did I just get myself into?" Roman wondered aloud. "All right.  That's a yes."  They'd known each other for a week, and already he whipped.  This was trouble.  "But here's the condition: if something comes up and you need help, your ass better tell me. None of this gettin' yourself in trouble and hiding it from me just because you're too stubborn to speak up. You've gotten past a lot on your own already, so I think you can do this, but even so, you got a safety net if you fall. I'll catch you."

Dean snorted. "That's so fuckin' corny."

He looked embarrassed for some reason. Roman held firm. "There's no shame in asking for help sometimes, you know. I do. As much as he drives me up the wall, I still need my dad's advice and his help. You helped me. You gave me the kick in the ass I needed to get me moving in the right direction. And I'll help you if you need it. That's all I'm saying."

"All right, all right," Dean said, waving him off. "I got it."

"And I'm gonna hold you to _my_ reward - whatever that's gonna be." Roman wasn't sure what yet, but he had some vague idea involving a strip tease, some handcuffs, a blindfold, and possibly some candles or toys. "I just need to know what I have to do for it."

"It can't just be one thing," Dean said. "'Cuz you could buy a beach house tomorrow. That's not exactly that hard for you. Maybe that and do like three or four of those culinary tour things in a year or something? I mean, that's not exactly _fair_ 'cuz I gotta work for mine, but-"

"What if I took a cooking class on top of a couple vacations?" Roman suggested. "Since you'd be going to school, I could too. That way we're both working on something."

The house lights dimmed suddenly, and the crowd noise around them swelled as a spotlight hit a dude in slacks and a polo making his way down to the ring.

"Deal," Dean said, his attention going forward. "You're on."

"Good," Roman said. He leaned closer and, speaking up to be heard over the rising cheers, said, "Come with me to Florida. And New York. There's no reason for you to say here, is there? You can find you an apartment, you can find jobs - there's places all over looking for people - and there's bound to be some good schools in the area for when you're ready. And I'm there. I'll be gone a fair bit for work, but I'm still in New York more than anywhere, and that way we can see each other without the whole damn country being between us. You know? So what do you say?"

The ring announcer climbed through the ropes, and began his welcome spiel, amping the crowd up to a fever pitch with his enthusiastic, "We are _so_ happy to be back here! This is one of our favorite places to come! What a crowd!"

It was probably bullshit, but the six or seven thousand people in the arena all bought it; the answering roar that went up reverberated off the ceiling, thrummed through the floor.

Dean glanced over, lower lip caught between his teeth. There were a thousand things on his face right then, things Roman could only begin to guess at, but eventually Dean nodded and mouthed the word, "Okay."

 _Okay_.

In the dim light, it was hard to tell if the flush in his cheeks was real or if it was just shadow.

Roman could have stopped his smile if he wanted to. While everyone around them was listening to the ring announcer's spiel, he let his hand steal out and settle over Dean's, which was splayed out on Dean's thigh. It was cool to the touch, clammy when Dean flipped it over and briefly laced their fingers together.

God knew this wasn't gonna be a cakewalk.

There'd be a mountain to climb with Roman's family. Dean had to get himself settled in somewhere. Roman still had his work to think about. All that in between trying to get to know each other better. Trying to figure out a way to make this all work.

That was for later, though; that was stuff to think about on the flight to Florida tomorrow, to talk about in the hotel, to worry about on the way to New York.

Right here and right now, it didn't matter.

What mattered was he and Dean, this arena, and their first date.

He squeezed Dean's hand once, shared a quiet smile, and finally let go.

The ring announcer guy left after he got everybody worked into a frenzy, and suddenly all the house lights shut off, leaving arena momentarily dark save for the weak lights on the stairs and what little came from the ramp.

Acting on that same, wild impulse that had driven him to grab Dean's hand just then, Roman turned to give Dean a quick kiss. Just because. There were people all around - and probably people behind saw them - and the angle was awkward, but he didn't care. Dean kissed him back, mouth curving into a smile that was still there once the lights went back up.

For the first time in a long damn time, Roman felt good.

 _Content_.

And as he watched Dean jump out of his seat with excitement when The New Day's music hit, face lit up, and blue eyes sparkling, Roman could only send up a silent thanks that he'd made that wrong turn.

It was the best mistake he'd ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for an epilogue...


	14. Epilogue

" **New Tricks"  
**_XIV. Epilogue_

_Five years later..._

Sunday night.

 _Wrestlemania_.

San Francisco.

The city where it all started.

The crowd buzzed electric.

Down at ringside, Roman could feel it pulsing through him, this energy from tens of thousands of people all jamming out to the band playing this year's theme.

The Horsewomen sound amazing, and it still put the biggest smile on Roman's face to see Becky up there drumming away, blazing and confident. All around her, her bandmates rocked on.

Dean had made Roman take him back to San Francisco two weeks after they left, just so he could be there for Becky's gig. They'd sat with Enzo and Enzo's aptly-named friend Big Cass, Roman dodging Enzo's knowing leer in favor of watching Dean rock out.

In the last two years especially, the Horsewomen had made big waves in the music industry, producing two monster hits - including the one that the WWE chose to be their anthem for this year's Show of Shows.

Enzo and Big Cass were here somewhere, lost in the crowd and no doubt yelling themselves hoarse.

Both of them worked at the Kingsford now, Enzo still content to park cars and Cass one of chefs.

Their diss track had gone viral a week after it went out, thanks to John Cena's butthurt fanboys tweeting about it, and starting a campaign to get Cass and Enzo taken off YouTube. Which had led to the whole thing blowing up, with the diss track racking up around five million views and turning Cass and Enzo into an overnight sensation.

John Cena himself never once acknowledged the video; neither did his record company.

They seemed to think the best course of action to take was just to ignore it, and let it die away.

Eventually, it did.

For about a year, Cass and Enzo left their jobs and tried to make YouTube a full-time thing, with a slate of skits and raps and comedy bits, but Roman, who dutifully watched each and every new video, noticed fewer and fewer people watching. The views went down from the millions to the hundreds of thousands to the tens of thousands. Still good, but according to a down-and-out Enzo, "it ain't good enough to make bank on."

So they went back to the hotel, with Enzo doing some producing on the side, and guest rapping on tracks with Cass, occasionally. But the part Roman was most happy to hear was that Enzo had gotten engaged recently, and had a baby on the way.

Beside Roman, Antonio Cesaro looked like he was really into the music, nodding his head and watching the scene on the big screen up front with a smile.

He didn't do that as much these days.

Smile.

That boyish enthusiasm had dimmed in the year since his grandfather passed away.

Willard had been at home, fighting a cold when he'd succumbed to a heart attack. The only consolation, a devastated Antonio told Roman, was that it was quick, and that his grandfather had likely died in his sleep. He probably hadn't felt a thing.

Even so, it was huge blow for Antonio, who found himself the man in charge of the company.

He'd stayed in touch with Dean and Roman since they all met, with Dean and Roman stopping out a few times a year to visit, but in this last year especially, they'd grown close. Antonio was a family man now with a wife and a son with another son on the way, but Roman became the ear Antonio bent when he needed business advice. Dean, too, just became a sympathetic ear. A friend.

It'd been a tough year for Dean, too, when he'd learned from one of his old friends that Sami had overdosed and nearly died. Sami had finally agreed to go to rehab - Dean paid for it - but three months ago, they'd learned Sami relapsed and was back to running dope again with the old crew. As far as Roman knew, Dean still hadn't managed to talk Sami into getting himself cleaned up again.

It was tough, and while it wasn't the same as Antonio's situation, Roman knew that the two of them - Dean and Antonio - talked about it often.

Roman was glad that they'd stayed friends.

As much as Roman tried to be there for Dean, it was nice that Dean had other people he could vent to when he needed to.

Tonight, it was just nice to see Antonio enjoying himself.

(It was also, Roman thought, nice to not be the only one wearing dress slacks and a dress shirt here. Neither of them was wearing a tie, but they both had sport coats on, and looked a little out of place in a crowd of folks wearing wrestling tee shirts and jeans. Roman could have worn a wrestling tee shirt - God knew he had ten thousand of them - but he wanted to dress up a little for the occasion.)

On his other side, his mom and his cousins were all laughing about something on somebody's sign across the way, but he couldn't see it and couldn't quite hear them over the noise.

Probably the only thing that would have made tonight better was if his dad could have been here.

But his dad refused to come, stubborn asshole that he was.

To this damn day, things were still awkward. While Roman's mom made it abundantly clear Dean was part of the family now, Roman's dad was much slower to accept it. No matter how many events Dean made it to - usually looking killer in his fitted suits - and how well Dean did for himself (and how damn good Dean looked these days), there was still underlying attitude that Dean wasn't _enough_. Not good enough. Not rich enough. Not successful enough.

These days, Roman's dad didn't really _say_ those things aloud anymore, but it still came out in little ways that Roman knew actually bothered Dean a lot. Ways like tonight - not being here when the rest of the family was.

Roman had yelled at dad over the phone about it just last night.

Because Roman himself had worked his ass off doing everything to help grow Reigns International by almost a third in the last five years, often trading time what little time he had with Dean to go out and keep working. Dean himself had been working his ass off to get where _he'd_ gotten.

And he'd done it on his own.

He still had the picture of Roman in a cheerleader's outfit as the wallpaper on his phone to prove it.

Tonight was huge.

They'd both been working incredibly damn hard the last five years, and somehow it just wasn't enough.

Getting Seth _and_ Hunter sent to prison for insider trading, tax evasion, and a host of other things, that wasn't enough. Roman's gamble on the Cesaro Group - which turned out to be their biggest success - paying off wasn't enough. Dean completely turning himself around and transforming himself into basically a different person wasn't even enough.

It had _infuriated_ Roman when his old man casually said he wasn't coming.

He was " _busy_."

Roman shouted himself hoarse about how selfish and _mean_ that was, to behave like that when Roman and Dean both had done nothing but put their shoulders to the wheel and hustle. How much this meant not only to Dean, but to the whole family - _who were all here_ \- and how it took a real asshole to be 'busy' on such a big night.

Up on the stage, the Horsewomen finished their set to huge applause, Roman clapping himself for Becky, Sasha, Bayley, and Charlotte as they all waved and made their way back behind the curtain.

Antonio turned to him then, and said, "When do you think it will be?"

"Hopefully soon," Roman said, trying not to fidget.

 _Wrestlemania_.

Two minutes later, the familiar engine noise revved up. Yellow and red lights began to flash. Roman, Antonio, and the whole family - already on their feet - started screaming their damn heads off as Dean's Titantron flashed on the huge screen. They did this cool barbed wire pattern on the floor under him, which made him look like he was kind of walking through a maze to get down to the ring.

And there he was: leather jacket, jeans, and a black tanktop.

They'd let him keep his name, and turned his initials into an anarchy symbol.

The ovation was so loud it made Roman's ears ring.

Dean's first _Wrestlemania_.

Didn't get much better than this.

Five years of learning the ropes and working some sketchy matches in small promotions before the WWE snapped him up, and made him one of theirs.

Hell of a long journey, but Dean never looked happier.

He didn't seem nervous as he made his way down to the ring.

But he paused at the end of the entrance ramp and just sort of took everything in, the way Roman had seen him do a thousand times over the last five years, impassive, this strange little smile on his face.

Instead of going straight to the ring, Dean walked around it, high-fiving fans who were reaching out to him, not pausing until he reached the corner where Roman, Antonio, and the family all waited.

These days, Dean was all muscle, but somehow he'd still kept that ridiculously small waist; it made Roman laugh when he saw people on social media commenting about it. Like, _it's even smaller than you think_. And the tanktops he wore under his jackets showed that off.

Same old Dean, though, bright eyes and a smile that promised trouble.

He reached over to high-five Antonio, who yelled, "Good luck!" over the din.

"Thanks, man!" Dean called back. He passed Roman by on his way to go say hi to Roman's mom and cousins. They all slapped hands and wished Dean luck.

Lastly, Dean stopped in front of Roman. They bumped left hands, and Dean subtly touched the ring on Roman's third finger.

"For good luck," he always said.

Roman smiled at his husband. "You don't need it, Dean. Now go on. Give 'em hell. Bring the championship home, huh?"

Intercontinental. Not a bad first-time _Wrestlemania_.

Dean nodded. "See ya on the other side."

And with that, he turned to make his way into the ring.

[The End]

_1 September 2016 - 22 October 2016_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you kindly to everyone for all your encouragement. I'll see you on the next one. -CJ

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr [right here.](http://the-madder-jester.tumblr.com) Come say hi!
> 
> [ Awesome cover art](http://ahhsuka.tumblr.com/post/150748181462/happy-birthday-cj-the-madder-jester) by ahhsuka. Check it out!


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